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THE HEART OF PINOCCHIO 





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[See p. 147 


“ BUT SMELL THIS ”... AND WHILE HE SPOKE THE RASCAL OF A 
PINOCCHIO TOOK IN BOTH HIS HANDS THE DISH AND HELD IT CLOSE 
TO STOLZ’S NOSE 


\ 










































THE HEART OF 

X 

* PINOCCHIO « 


Ne w Adventures of the 
Celebrated Little Puppet 



COLLODI NIPOTE 

{Paolo Lorenzini) 


Adapted from the Italian by 
VIRGINIA WATSON 



With Drawings by 
J. R. Flanagan 


> 

5 > 

> ) 9 


HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

1 a 













The Heart of Pinocchio 


Copyright, 1919. by Harper & Brothers 
Printed in the United States of America 
Published October, 1919 


J 


I-T 


©CI.A535257 



t 




CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 


How Pinocchio Discovered that He Had a Heart 
and Had Become a Real Boy .... 

How Pinocchio Recognized the Advantages of His 
Wooden Body . 

How Pinocchio Sent a Solemn Protest to Francis 
Joseph to Rectify an Official Bulletin 

How Pinocchio Learned that War Changes Every¬ 
thing—Even the Meaning of Words 

In Which Pinocchio Discovers that Sometimes 
When You Want to Advance You Have to Take 
a Step Backward . 

Wherein We See Pinocchio's Heart .... 

How Pinocchio Came Face to Face with Our 
Alpine Troops . 

How Pinocchio Made Two Beasts Sing — Con¬ 
trary to Nature . 

How Pinocchio Complained Because He Was No 
Longer a Wooden Puppet . 

Many Deeds and Few Words . 

And Now—Finished or Not Finished . 


PAGE 

I 

22 

33 

62 

78 

92 

no 

135 

151 

177 
199 












ILLUSTRATIONS 


11 But smell this ” . . . and while he spoke the 
rascal of a Pinocchio took in both hands the 
dish and held it close to Stolz's nose . . Frontispiece 

“ I see the suet-eaters” . Facing page 36 

He saw a rag tied to a pole waving .... “ 42 

“ You beastly little creature, what game are you 

playing?” . “ 46 

One day he managed to capture a pig and to drag 

it along behind him . * 1 62 

His foot caught Cutemup right in the stomach and 

knocked him breathless . “ 88 

Pinocchio did his best to get on his feet, but 

couldn't succeed . ** 116 

Ciampanella, the company cook .... 41 134 







INTRODUCTION 


Dear Boys and Girls, —Let us hope 
that none of you has been so unfortunate 
as to have missed the pleasure of watching 
sometime or other a puppet show. Prob¬ 
ably Punch and Judy is the one you know 
best, but there are many others with jolly 
little fellows who dance in and out of all 
sorts of adventures. So you can imagine 
Pinocchio, the hero of this book, as one of 
those lively puppets. And, in case you have 
never read the earlier book about him, you 
will want to know something of what hap¬ 
pened to him before you meet him in these 
pages. 

One day a poor carpenter, called Master 
Cherry, began to cut up a piece of wood to 
make a table-leg of it when, to his utmost 
amazement, the piece of wood cried out, 
“Do not strike me so hard!” The fright¬ 
ened carpenter stopped for a moment, and 
when he began again and struck the wood 
a blow with his ax the voice cried out once 




Introduction 


more, “Oh, oh! you have hurt me so!” 
The carpenter was now so terrified that he 
was only too glad to turn the piece of wood 
over to a neighbor, Papa Geppetto, who 
cut it up into the shape of a boy puppet, 
painted it, and named it Pinocchio—which 
means “a piece of pinewood.” As soon as 
he had finished making him, Pinocchio 
grabbed the old man's wig off his head and 
started in to play tricks. Papa Geppetto 
then taught the puppet to walk, and when 
naughty Pinocchio discovered he could use 
his legs, he ran away. Then began all 
kinds of adventures, and Pinocchio was 
sometimes naughty and selfish, and some¬ 
times kind and considerate, but always 
funny and jolly. 

In this new book Pinocchio's heart has 
grown through love and consideration for 
others, so that he becomes a real boy and 
takes part in the war to help his beautiful 
country, Italy. 


The Translator. 



THE HEART OF PINOCCHIO 







THE HEART OF 
PINOCCHIO 


CHAPTER I 

How Pinocchio Discovered That He Had a 
Heart and Had Become a Real Boy 

H E yawned, stuck out his tongue and 
licked the end of his nose, opened his 
eyes, shut them again, opened them once 
more and rubbed them vigorously with the 
back of his hand, jumped up, and then sat 
down on the sofa, listening intently for 
several minutes, after which he scratched 
his noddle solemnly. When Pinocchio 
scratched his head in this way you could be 
sure that there was trouble in the air. And 
so there was. The room was empty, the 
windows closed, and the door as well; no 
noise came from the still quiet street; a 
2 I 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

deep silence filled the air, yet there, right 
there, close to him, he heard queer sounds 
like blows—tick-tock . . . tick-tock . . . 
tick-tock . . . tick-tock. 

It sounded like some 
one who was amusing 
himself by rapping with 
his knuckles on a wooden 
box—tick-tock . . . tick- 
tock . . . tick-tock. 

* 1 But who is it ? ” called 
out the puppet, sud¬ 
denly, jumping down 
from the sofa and run¬ 
ning to peer into every 
corner of the room. 
When he had knocked 
over the chest, rum¬ 
maged the wardrobe 
with the mirror, upset 
the little table, turned over the chairs, 
pulled the pictures off the walls, and tom 
down the window-curtains, he found him¬ 
self seated on the floor in the middle of 
the room, dead tired, his face all smeared 
with dust and spider-webs, his shirt in tat¬ 
ters, his tongue hanging out like a pointer’s 

returning from the hunt. Yet there, close 

2 





The Heart of Pinocchio 

to him, he still heard that strange tick- 
tock . . . tick-tock . . . tick-tock . . . and 
it seemed as if those mysterious fingers were 
rapping even more quickly upon the mys¬ 
terious wooden box. Pinocchio would have 
pulled his hair out in desperation if Papa 
Geppetto hadn’t forgotten to make him any. 
But as the desperation of puppets lasts just 
about as long as the joy of poor human 
beings, Pinocchio, laying his right forefinger 
on the point of his magnificent nose, calmly 
remarked: 

* ‘ Let me argue this out. There is no one 
else in here but me. I am keeping perfectly 
quiet, not even drawing a long breath, yet 
the noise keeps up. ... Then, since it is 
not I who am making the noise, some one 
else must be making it, and as no one out¬ 
side me is making it, whatever makes it 
must be inside me.” 

This seemed reasonable, but Pinocchio, 
who had not expected he would come to 
such a conclusion, gave a start, kicked 
violently, and began to roll around on the 
ground, yelling as if he would split his 
throat: ‘ ‘ Help! Help!” The thought had 
suddenly come to him that during the night 
a mouse had jumped into his mouth and 

3 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

down into his stomach and was searching 
about in it for some way to get out. But 
the quieter he kept the noisier grew the 
tick-tock; in fact, so loud that it seemed 
to cut off his breath. Fear made him 
calm. 

“Let me argue this out,” he said again, 
laying his forefinger against his nose. “It 
cannot be a mouse; the movement is too 
regular, so regular that if I weren’t sure 
that I went to bed without supper I should 
think I had swallowed Papa Geppetto’s 
watch by mistake. . . . Hm! If he hadn’t 
told me time and time again that I am only 
a little puppet without a heart I should 
almost believe that I had one down inside 
me, and that this tick-tock were indeed ...” 

“Just so!” 

“Who said ‘Just so’? Who said ‘Just 
so’?” called Pinocchio, looking around in 
terror. Naturally no one answered him. 

“Hm! Did I dream it?” he asked him¬ 
self. “And even if there is any one who 
thinks he can frighten me with his ‘just 
so’ he will find himself much mistaken. 
A brave boy does not know what fear is, 
and I begin to think . . . 

‘“Just so’ or not ‘just so,’ if any one 

4 ’ 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

has anything to say to me let him come for¬ 
ward and he will learn what kind of blows 
I can give.” 

He turned round and stepped back a 
few steps. It seemed to him that some 
one was making a threatening gesture at 
him. Without 
hesitating a 
moment, he 
rushed forward 
with his head 
down, thrash¬ 
ing out blows 
like a madman. 

Then he heard 
a terrible 
smashing of 
glass. Pinoc¬ 
chio had hit 
out at his own 
image in the 
wardrobe mir¬ 
ror, which nat- 
urally was 
shattered to 
bits. There is no need for me to tell 
you how he felt, because you will have no 
trouble in picturing it for yourselves. 

5 

























The Heart of Pinocchio 

“But how did I come to make such a 
blunder?” he asked himself, as soon as he 
had recovered from his surprise. “How did 
I happen not to recognize myself in the 
mirror? Am I really so changed . . .? 
Can I indeed be changed into a real little 
boy or am I a puppet as I always was?” 

“Just so! Just so! Just so!” 

This time there could be no doubt about 
it. Pinocchio sprang toward the window, 
opened it, and stuck his head out. There 
below, a few feet lower down, was a beauti¬ 
ful terrace covered with flowering plants. 
In the midst of the plants was a stand, and 
on the stand a magnificent green parrot 
who just at that moment was scratching 
under his beak with his claw, and looking 
around him with one eye open. Down in 
the street below there was not a soul to be 
seen. 

“Oh, you ugly beast! Was it you who 
was chattering ‘just so, just so, just so’?” 

The parrot burst out into a crazy laugh 
and began to sing in his cracked voice: 

‘Coccorito wants to know 
Who the glass gave such a blow. 
Coccorito knows it well 
And the master he will tell.” 

6 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Hah! Hah! Hah!” And he burst out 
into another guffaw. Patience, which is the 
only heritage of donkeys, was certainly not 
Pinocchio’s 
principal 
virtue. More¬ 
over, the parrot 
laughed in such 
a rude manner 
that he would 
have annoyed 
Jove himself. 

“Stop it, 
idiot!” 

“Idiot, idiot, 

’yot, ’yot.” 

“Beast!” 

“Beast!” 

“Take care . . 

“Take ca-a-a-re.” 

“I’ll give it to you.” 

“You, you, you. 

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! 

Who the glass gave such a blow? 
Coccorito knows it well 
And the master he will tell.” 

“Will you? I’ll make you shut up. 
Take this, you horrid beast!” 

7 





The Heart of Pinoccliio 

There was a large terra-cotta pot with a 
fine plant of basil in it standing on the 
window-sill, and the furious Pinocchio seized 
it in both hands and hurled it down with 
all his force. Coccorito would have come 
to a sad ending if the god of parrots had 
not protected his topknot. The flower-pot 
grazed the stand and was shattered against 
the marble parapet, and the pieces, falling 
down, hit against the large stained-glass 
window opening on to the terrace and 
broke it. 

Pinocchio, who could hardly believe that 
he had done so much damage, stood still 
a moment and gazed stupidly at the pile 
of broken pieces and at the parrot, who 
laughed as if he would burst. But when 
Pinocchio saw a big officer rush angrily 
over the terrace, with his hair brushed up 
on his head, a huge mustache beneath his 
curved nose, and a thick switch in his hand, 
he was seized with such a fright that he 
threw over his shoulders the first thing in 
the way of clothing he could lay his hand 
on, rushed to the door, opened it with a 
kick, ran through a small room adjoining, 
sped down the stairs at breakneck speed, 

flung open the street door and—Heavens! 

8 


The Heart of Ptnocchio 

He felt a violent blow on his stomach and, 
as if hurled from a catapult, he was thrown 
into the air and fell down the rest of the 
steps, his legs out before him. But he 
didn’t stay still when he got 
to the bottom. He sprang 
up like a jack-in-the-box, 
rubbed himself on the injured 
part, and was off again. He 
seemed to see some one stroll¬ 
ing there in the middle of the 
street; he thought he heard 
himself called twice or thrice 
by a well-known voice, but 
the fear which was driving 
him bade him run, and he 
ran with all the strength he 
had in his body. 

Poor Papa Geppetto! It 
was indeed he who was stroll¬ 
ing in the middle of the street 
and who, seeing Pinocchio 
flying out of the house like a madman, 
wrapped in a flowered chintz curtain, had 
called to him imploringly. 

And so it was—in his hurry Pinocchio 
had thrown over his shoulders one of the 
curtains of his room, and if I must tell you 

9 





The Heart of Pinocchio 

all the truth, he was a perfectly comical 
sight. Soon Pinocchio had a string of peo¬ 
ple at his heels crying out: “Catch the 
madman! Give it to the madman!” 

Catch him! That was easy to say, but 
it was no easy matter to grab hold of the 
rascal. Indeed, his pursuers were soon 
weary, and Pinocchio might have thought 
himself safe if a dog hadn’t suddenly joined 
in the game. It was a large jet-black poodle 
that had come from no one knew where. 
With a couple of bounds he had caught up 
with Pinocchio and had seized the curtain 
in his teeth and was dragging it through 
the dust. Suddenly he stiffened on his 
four legs and Pinocchio gave a little whirl 
and found himself face to face with the 
animal. 

“ Ho, ho, ho! What do I see? Oh, Medoro, 
don’t you recognize me? Give me your paw.” 

Medoro growled and shook the curtain 
violently, which was still knotted about 
Pinocchio’s waist. It was only then that 
he noticed the strange covering he had on 
and burst out laughing. 

‘ ‘ Oh, Medoro! What do you really want 
to do with this rag? I’ll give it to you 
willingly.” 


io 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

He had scarcely undone the knots when 
Medoro made a spring and was off down 
the street they had come, the curtain in his 



teeth. The puppet stood there, quite upset. 
Medoro had given him a lesson. The dog 
that had been so friendly had turned on him 
and, after having pulled the miserable old 
curtain off him, had made off without pay¬ 
ing any further attention to his old friend. 

“A fine way of doing!” he grumbled. 
“Ill catch cold running around after that 
rag. Papa Geppetto won’t even thank him. 
. . . I had better tried to mend the mirror 

of the wardrobe or the general’s window.” 

ii 





The Heart of Pinocchio 

The thought of all the troubles he had 
caused the poor man in so short a time 
made Pinocchio rather melancholy, and two 
big tears shone in his bright little eyes. But 
suddenly he sighed a deep sigh, shrugged 
his shoulders several times, and with his 
head high and his hands on his hips, set off 
again on his way, whistling a popular song. 

He had not gone a hundred steps when 
he stopped suddenly, cocked his ear, lis¬ 
tened a moment quietly, and then flung 
himself into the fields which bordered the 
street. The wind brought from far off 
the gay notes of a military band. 

There was a huge crowd, but Pinocchio 
didn’t give that a thought, in spite of the 
fact that he was very tired with his long 
run. By pushing and poking and kicks in 
the shins he got up into the front row. 
Soldiers were passing. At the head was a 
company of bicycle sharpshooters (bersagl- 
ieri), then the band, then the regiment, the 
Red Cross ambulance, and soldiers, and a 
long line of sappers. Everybody clapped, 
threw kisses and flowers, and overwhelmed 
the bersaglieri with little gifts. The sol¬ 
diers broke ranks and mingled with the 

crowd and answered the applause with loud 

12 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

cheers for Italy, the King, and the Army. 
Some of them marched along in the midst 
of their families; weeping mothers begged, 
their sons to be careful; the fathers bade 
them be brave, reminding them of the 
fighting in ’48, ’66, ’70—the glorious years 
of our emancipation. The little boys kept 
close to their fathers, proud to see them 
armed like the heroes of old legends, and 
many of the girls besought their sweet¬ 
hearts: “Write to me, won’t you? Every 
day I want you to write to me. If I don’t 
get letters from you I shall think that you 
are dead and I shall weep so bitterly.” 

Dead! This word affected Pinocchio so 
that suddenly he felt his heart beating 
loudly—that strange tick-tock, tick-tock, 
tick-tock which had startled him earlier 
that morning. 

Dead? “Oh! where are they going?” he 
asked a sprightly old man who was stand¬ 
ing near by, shouting, “Hurrah for Italy!” 
as if he were a boy. 

“They are going to the war.” 

“Are they really off to war? Will they 
fire only powder from their guns, or real, 
lead bullets, too?” 

“Indeed yes, real bullets, too.” 

13 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

“And will they all die?” 

“We hope not all of them—but they are 
going to fight for the honor and greatness 
of their country, and he who dies for his 
country may die happy.” 

Pinocchio did not breathe. He scratched 
his head solemnly, and with his eyes and 
mouth made such a face that if the little 
old man had seen it he would probably have 
boxed his ears for him. This “die happy” 
was silly. Death had always frightened 
him whenever he had come near to it. 

“Have you been to war?” Pinocchio 
asked the little old man, half ironically. 

“ Can’t you see?” and he pointed to a row 
of medals pinned on his coat. 

“And you would go back?” 

“Certainly, if they would take me as a 
volunteer.” 

This reply brought a strange longing to 
Pinocchio, all the more that the tick-tock, 
tick-tock, tick-tock in the box inside of his 
body was making so much noise that it 
rang in his ears. And then the gay notes 
of the band, the joyous air of the soldiers, 
the cheers of the crowd, suddenly brought 
a strange idea into his head. The war, with 
its cannon, marches on one side, fighting 

14 


I 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

on the other, horses dashing, flags waving 
in the wind, songs of victory, medals on the 
breast, prisoners tied together like sausages, 
war trophies, danced before his eyes in a 
fantastic dance. The war must be just the 
place for him, all the more so when he 
thought that it couldn’t be easy to get to 
it if the little old man who had been there 
so often couldn’t go now. 

“I, too, will go to the war with the sol¬ 
diers,” he said, in a low voice, and without 
wasting a moment he pushed his way be¬ 
tween the troops, who, now that they were 
approaching the station, began to close up 
the ranks. He found himself by the side 
of a young blond soldier, who seemed more 
lonely and sad than the others. 

“Will you take me with you?” Pinocchio 
asked, pulling at his coat. 

“Where?” 

“To the war.” 

“You? Are you crazy?” 

“No, indeed.” 

“And you ask me to take you with 
me?” 

“Whom, then, must I ask?” 

“There is the guard down there, that one 
with a blue scarf over his shoulder.” 

i5 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

When Pinocchio got an idea in his head 
he had to work it out at any cost. So he 
repeated his demand to the lieutenant of 
the guard, who, smiling under his mus¬ 
tache, pointed out the captain inspecting 
the troops. But the captain could decide 
nothing without the consent of the battalion 
commander, who, for his part, would have 
had to ask the approval of the colonel. 
He advised Pinocchio to hasten matters by 
going to the adjutant, who could present 
his request directly to the general. 

They were now in the station. The sol¬ 
diers took their places in the huge cars, 
around which crowded their families, 
friends, and the cheering, curious throng. 
At the end of the train some first-class car¬ 
riages were attached into which the order¬ 
lies carried the hand-baggage of their higher 
officers. In front of one compartment re¬ 
served for one of these was piled up a 
regular mountain of small objects—little 
packages, boxes, rugs, furs, which a cavalry 
soldier was trying to carry inside. The 
adjutant, a few feet away, was looking on, 
trembling with impatience and vexation. 

“ Quick! Quick! You lazybones! Quick! 

Quick! Mollica. General Win-the-War 

16 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

will be here in a minute and his things are 
not yet inside. I’ll put you under arrest 
for a fortnight.” 

“I respectfully beg the adjutant to ob¬ 
serve that I have only two hands for the 
service of my general and of my country.” 

“And I beg you to observe that the train 
is about to start off.” 

“If the adjutant would order some one 
to give me a hand ...” 

“There isn’t any one to be had, con¬ 
found it!” 

Just at that moment Pinocchio advanced 
resolutely toward the adjutant to put for¬ 
ward his request to be enlisted. 

“Mr. Adjutant ... I have come . . . 
to . . .” 

The adjutant didn’t let Pinocchio say 
another word, but caught hold of him under 
the chin, squeezed him, shook him gently 
. . . and said: 

“Good! I understand . . . you want to 
do something for the army. . . . Good boy! 
You are the best kind of a volunteer. Fine! 
Help Private Mollica to carry in all this 
stuff and your country will be grateful to 
you. And you, Mollica, hurry up. I beg 
you to observe that now you have the four 

3 17 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

hands you requested for the job. We un¬ 
derstand each other, heh?” 

Then he was off toward a group of sol¬ 
diers who were chalking on the door of one 
of the railway carriages in large letters: 

11 Through Train — Venice — Trieste — Vienna . *’ 
A big crowd had gathered around, stopping 
the traffic. 

“Ho, boys, who toid you to write through 
train? Next time ask permission from your 
superior officer. . . . There will be a little 
stop before we get there.’' 

“Doesn’t matter, sir, as long as we get 
there.” 

“ Well! You can tell wnen a tram leaves, 
but not whether it will ever arrive.” 

“Hurrah for Italy!” 

“Good boys! I like that. But rub out 
what you have written. You are first-class 
soldiers, you are. We understand each other, 
heh?” And off he went. 

With Pinocchio’s aid Private Mollica 
performed miracles. In a few minutes the 
general’s things were inside, beautifully ar¬ 
ranged in the baggage-racks. 

“You are a prodigy, boy, I tell you. You 
have done me a great service and my ad¬ 
jutant will be so pleased that if you will 

18 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

promise to keep guard here a moment I will 
go to tell him so that he can thank you in 
the general’s name.” 

“Go along; I’ll stay,” Pinocchio replied, 
and took up a position in front of the door 
that was so soldierly you might have taken 
him for a distant relative of Napoleon the 
Great before St. Helena. 

But a minute had not gone by and 
Mollica had not got a hundred steps away 
when Pinocchio turned as pale as death and 
trembled so with fright that he almost fell 
off the step. He had caught sight a short 
way off of General Win-the-War surrounded 
by a crowd of officers; and with his mar¬ 
velous vision had recognized in him Papa 
Geppetto’s furious tenant, whose stained 
glass he had shattered a few hours before, 
all on account of saucy Coccorito. 

He was lost; there was no possible way 
of escape! Win-the-War was coming di¬ 
rect to his compartment and the adjutant 
was guiding him. The crowd in the way 
divided before him and the soldiers stood 
stiffly at attention. Even Mollica stood 
there straight as a ramrod. . . . Pinoc¬ 
chio gave a leap into the compartment, 
hoping to escape by the opposite door. 

19 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

But it was not possible to open it. . . . 
He heard the sound of the approaching 
steps, the ring of the spurs. . . . Pinoc¬ 
chio flung himself down on the floor of the 
compartment and hid himself, face down¬ 
ward, under one of the seats. 

The general, a colonel, and the adjutant 
got in. A band struck up the national air; 
thousands of voices cheered the King, Italy, 
and the Army. The soldiers responded 
with youthful courage. . . .You heard 
a continual medley of good-bys and good 
wishes, and the quick, sharp repetition of 
commands. A hundred voices were sing¬ 
ing, “Farewell, my dear one, farewell”; a 
hundred others sang Garibaldi’s Hymn. 
. . . There was a profound silence in the 
compartment. Perhaps the superior offi¬ 
cers felt the great responsibility of the mo¬ 
ment and were moved by it. Pinocchio 
didn’t dare breathe for fear of betraying 
himself, but in his breast the tick-tock, 
tick-tock, tick-tock beat so loudly that 
he thought it must resound all along 
the wooden walls of the carriage. The 
notes of the national air seemed to be 
quicker . . . the cries of the crowd louder 

. . . the locomotive whistled shrilly a 

20 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

desperate good-by . . . the train began to 
move. . . . 

“Gentlemen,” said the general to his two 
companions, “let Italy's fate now be ful¬ 
filled. To-morrow we shall cross the fron¬ 
tier, for the glory of our King and for the 
greatness of our country. Long live Italy!” 

There was so much emotion in the old 
soldier's voice that Pinocchio felt as if a rope 
were strangling his throat. When the train 
was under way, rumbling noisily along the 
rails, he burst out crying and discovered 
that he had a heart just as if he were a real 
boy! 


» 


CHAPTER II 

How Pinocchio Recognized the Advantages 
of His Wooden Body 

“QO, Colonel, you understand? This af- 
O temoon we shall be at——(censor); we 
shall bivouac the troops; to-morrow morn¬ 
ing at two we must be on the march. We 

shall cross the frontier at-(censor) and 

we shall descend toward -. I expect 

rapid and united advance until we encounter 
serious opposition. Remind the soldiers of 
the respect due to property in the con¬ 
quered lands and to the beaten foes taken 
prisoners. ... I have been told by the 
commander-in-chief that it has been dis¬ 
covered that there is a host of spies who 
are working to injure us. I command you 
to be very severe with spies caught in the 
act, no matter what their age, race, or social 
standing. Tell your officers to keep abso¬ 
lutely secret all orders which they receive. If 

2Z 





The Heart of Pinocchio 

there is the slightest suspicion that an order 
relating to our advance has reached the ear 
of a person suspected even in the slightest 
degree, take him out, stand him with his 
face to the wall, and give him eight bullets 
in his back. You un¬ 
derstand —without 
fear of consequences 
or that you may be 
mistaken. It would 
be better than to 
allow — let us sup¬ 
pose such a case—a 
whole regiment to be 
destroyed.” 

Pinocchio, who 
had been beginning 
to enjoy the adventure, the swaying of the 
train, which, as he lay on his face, tickled 
his stomach, and the conversation of the 
general, which greatly interested him, was 
so terrified at these words that his body 
felt like goose-flesh. For a moment he 
thought he would faint. His ears rang 
loudly and he burst into a sweat. Heigh-ho! 
The general was not a man to say such 
things as a joke: “If there is the slightest 
suspicion that an order relating to our ad- 

23 






The Heart of Pinocchio 

vance has reached the ear of a person sus¬ 
pected even in the slightest degree, take 
him out, stand him with his face to the 
wall, and give him eight bullets in his back.” 
It was clear. As clear as it could be! In¬ 
stead of a single order, Pinocchio had over¬ 
heard a number . . . they would certainly 
take him for a spy, and most certainly the 
eight bullets would not be lacking. 

“Eight!” he exclaimed to himself as soon 
as he had managed to grow a little calmer. 
“Eight! One would be enough for me, and 
even that would be too much! But I don’t 
want to die with bullets in my back. . . . 
I am not a spy at all. Well . . . how can 
I persuade that orang-outang that I am in 
this compartment and under this seat for 
no other purpose than to go to war against 
my country’s enemies, and because the au¬ 
thorities certainly wouldn’t let me go in a 
more decent way? And suppose he recog¬ 
nizes me as the one who smashed his stained- 
glass window that opened out on his ter¬ 
race, instead of eight bullets, he will order 
me a couple of dozen. . . . What a pity! 
Poor me! Poor Papa Geppetto, what will 
he say about me? But, to sum it up, I am 

not a spy, and when any one wants to pre- 

24 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

tend to be what he is not he must find out 
the way to show them that he is not what 
they believe him to be. . . . The best 
way, I think, would be to slip off quietly. 
No one saw me come in here ... all I have 
to do is to get out without any one’s seeing 
me. It can’t be very difficult to do that; 
I’ll just stay quietly until the train gets to 
its destination, then let these gentlemen step 
out, and a minute later I’ll fade away.” 

If you could have poked your head under 
the seat and seen Pinocchio’s face at this 
moment you would have been made happy 
by his joyful smile. This little bit of rea¬ 
soning had so quieted his mind that if they 
had pressed eight muskets against his back 
to shoot the famous eight bullets into him 
he would have begun to laugh as if they 
were doing it only to tickle him. 

He stretched himself out slowly, and, 
lulled by the swaying of the train, was soon 
overcome by such a tranquil slumber that 
he couldn’t have slept better in his own little 
bed. 

“Poor Pinocchio!” I think I hear you 
say. “What is going to happen to him 
now?” Yes, that’s the way. It is the 
usual rule in this world that when a person 

25 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

thinks he can enjoy a moment of blessed 
repose some misfortune is lying in wait for 
him. If Pinocchio, instead of letting him¬ 
self be overcome with sleep, had kept his 
eyes and ears open while the train was slow¬ 
ing down and the locomotive ahead was 
puffing noisily he would have heard Gen¬ 
eral Win-the-War let out a yell of pain. 
Of course, he should have kept it back, but 
in time of war we pardon certain things, 
particularly when a general about to make 
an attack suffers from the torture of rheu¬ 
matic sciatica, an old trouble of his. 

“What’s the matter, General?” 

“My leg. My pain has come back; it’s 
worse than an Austrian bullet.” 

“Perhaps you have taken a little cold.” 

“Perhaps. ... It doesn’t seem warm 
here, for a fact, does it, Colonel?” 

“No, indeed.” 

“We are in the mountains and still climb¬ 
ing, and the temperature is going down.” 

“Gracious me! so it is. They ought 
. . . Major, do me the favor at the next 
stop to ask if it is possible to heat the 
compartment. If the rest of you don’t like 
the heat you can just go into the next 
compartment.” 


26 


The Heart of Pinoccliio 
‘‘The idea!” 

At the next stop, which was not long in 
coming, the colonel asked permission of his 
superior officer to go off for an inspection 
of his men, and the major went off to see 
about heat for his commanding officer. It 
was not a hard matter to obtain what he 
wanted. The general was traveling in an 
up-to-date carriage, one of those that have 
under the seats special steam coils which 
can be connected with the exhaust pipes of 
the locomotive's boiler, and, by a simple 
adjustment, begin to send out heat imme¬ 
diately. 

The signal for departure had already been 
given when the major returned joyfully to 
the compartment. 

“Well?” 

“The connection is made and we have 
heat on.” 

“Or rather we shall have it, because just 
now . . .” 

“Excuse me, General, all we have to do 
is to push that handle where the sign says 
‘cold’ and ‘hot’ and . . 

The general, who was following the ma¬ 
neuver attentively, uttered an “Oh!” of re¬ 
lief as if the compartment were suddenly 

27 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

transformed into a hothouse, and stretched 
his legs out comfortably, resting his feet on 
the opposite seat. 

I can’t tell you where Pinocchio’s 
thoughts were at this moment. But I can 
assure you that he was dreaming and that 
they must have been pleasant dreams, be¬ 
cause there was a beautiful smile on his face. 
But suddenly the expression changed to one 
strange and painful. Perhaps in his dreams, 
while he was seated at a table that was 
spread with the most delicious dainties, he 
felt himself slipping down, down, and sud¬ 
denly found himself on a hot gridiron with 
St. Lawrence in person. It is certain 
that when he opened his eyes it was impos¬ 
sible to breathe the air beneath the seat, 
and where his back touched it, it was hot 
enough to bake a loaf of bread. He started 
to jump out, but caught sight, right in front 
of his nose, of the little wheels in the ad¬ 
jutant’s spurs. The sight of these brought 
him back to his real situation. 

“But what is the matter?” he said to 
himself. “Is the axle of the wheel on fire? 
And can I keep from burning? But if they 
notice it, too? If no one moves that means 

that there is no danger . . . but, Heavens! 

28 


• • • 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

it burns! Ouch! I am covered with sweat, 
but I have got to stand it. ... If I get out 
there will be the eight bullets in my back. 
Poor me! How much better it would be if 
I were still nothing but a wooden puppet!” 



Well, I can’t help him. It’s too much for 
me. It would indeed have been convenient 
at that moment to be made of wood, for he 
was in a situation such as no one would 
wish for any creature of flesh and blood— 
for me or you, for instance. He had either 
to stand being steamed on the boiling pipe 
of the heating apparatus or to give him¬ 
self up into the hands of the general, who 
wouldn’t delay long the threatened shooting. 

Pinocchio was a hero, also a regular mar¬ 
tyr, because he stood the torture more than 
half an hour, turning himself from side to 
side, moving restlessly, and drawing up his 

29 













The Heart of Pinocchio 

body in one way and another like the afore¬ 
said St. Lawrence of blessed memory, the 
only difference being that the saint expected 
to be well cooked on one side and then to 
turn over and be cooked on the other; 
while Pinocchio, when he discovered that 
a certain part of him was about to be cooked 
in earnest, let out a loud scream and fol¬ 
lowed it by calls for “Help! help!” 

General Win-the-War and the adjutant 
jumped to their feet like jacks-in-the-box, 
threw themselves down on the ground, and, 
without paying any attention to the blow 
on the heads they gave each other, ran 
their arms under the seat, and with out¬ 
stretched hands seized hold of Pinocchio 
and dragged him out. They nearly tore 
him in two like a tender chicken, one pull¬ 
ing him on one side and one on the other. 

“You wretch!” 

“You scoundrel!” 

“Who are you?” 

“Speak, you miserable creature!” 

“General, he is a spy.” 

“We must question him in German . . . 
he must be an Austrian.” 

“ Wer sind Sie?” 

No answer. 


30 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

What language do you speak, you little 
beast?” 

Poor Pinocchio couldn’t even draw a long 
breath. The general clutched him by the 
collar with such a military firmness that he 
turned the color of a ripe cherry. A little 
more and he would have been strangled to 
death. 

The adjutant saved him by respectfully 
bidding the general remember that in ques¬ 
tioning a prisoner it is necessary to allow 
him to breathe if you wish an answer. 

“Mr. General . . . forgive me. I am not 
a spy. It would be a real crime if you 
had me shot . . . just as soon as we ar¬ 
rive at . . . Give me a gun and I will go 
to war with the troops.” 

“Oh, you wretch! So you listened to all 
we said?” 

“How could I help it? I was under here 
when the train started. It was I who helped 
Private Mollica to put all your stuff inside.” 

“Even this leather case?” 

“Certainly I, I myself.” 

“Even the despatch-case with the plans! 
Major, give me your revolver so that I can 
shoot him like a dog.” 

“But why do you want to shoot me, Mr. 

31 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

General? I haven’t done anything. . . . 
I wanted to go to the war to hear the 
cannon, but I never spied on any one, 
not even when I went to school. . . . Can 
you really take me for a Boche? No, for 
gracious’ sake, no. . . . Look at my feat¬ 
ures. . . . No, no, no, for Heaven’s sake! 
Keep your weapon quiet. . . . Don’t you 
know who I am? ... I am Pinocchio, 
Papa Geppetto’s Pinocchio . . . who only 
this morning broke your stained-glass win¬ 
dow. ...” 

At that point the general uttered such a 
roar that Pinocchio felt his breath leave 
him. But he saw the officer hand back the 
pistol to the major and take up from the 
seat a big leather bag; then he didn’t see 
the bag again, but he felt it several times 
and with great force exactly on the part of 
his body which had suffered the most from 
the heat of the steam coil. . . . But Pi¬ 
nocchio was saved by his sincerity. Gen¬ 
eral Win-the-War could certainly not have 
bothered to beat a real spy, but I can tell 
you that at that moment Pinocchio would 
have preferred to be still a wooden puppet. 


32 


CHAPTER III 


How Pinocchio Sent a Solemn Protest to 
Francis Joseph to Rectify an Official 
Bulletin 

M AY had come with her blossoms, but 
. up there a sharp wind was blowing so 
that it seemed still February. Pinocchio, 
half naked as he was, shivered like a leaf, 
and every now and then let out a sneeze 
which sounded like a bursting shell. At 
every sneeze Mollica gave him a kick, 
Corporal Fanfara a box on the ear, and 
Drummer Stecca a pinch. The only one 
who didn’t abuse him was Bersaglierino, the 
blond young soldier, more melancholy than 
his companions, whom he had first accosted 
in the station when they were setting out. 
I have told you that Pinocchio trembled 
with cold, and I will tell you that it was 
almost a good thing for him to do so; other¬ 
wise they would have seen him tremble with 
4 33 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

fear. If this had happened, his teasing com¬ 
panions would have driven him to despair. 
Pinocchio was to be pitied. He was at the 
front, the frontier several miles behind them, 
and any minute might bring Austrian bul¬ 
lets whistling through the air. The general 
had spared the youngster from being shot 
in the back, but he had given orders to put 
him in the very front line during the ad¬ 
vance and to keep him well guarded. In 
one case the guns of the enemy would do 
justice to the suspected spy; in the other, 
Pinocchio would clear himself by his con¬ 
duct and at the same time would lose his 
desire for a close view of the enemy. 

Private Mollica was furious with him. 

“Che-chew! che-chew! che-chew! ,, 

“ Plague take you!” Another kick. 
“Keep still, you little beast! If you let 
the enemy spot us I’ll stick this bayonet in 
your backbone.” 

“I can’t stand it any longer. I am 
frozen—che-chew! ’ ’ 

“Stop it!” Another box on the ear. 
“You are all right. You wanted to be a 
volunteer; now you see how much fun it is.” 
“I?” 

“Yes, you. ... You were the cause of 

34 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

the fine talking-to my general gave me, 
and you made me lose my place as an or¬ 
derly where I had a chance to make extra 
soldi. If you hadn’t gone and told him 
that you had helped me to carry his things 
and if you hadn’t slipped under the seat of 
that same officer to listen to what he said, 
I shouldn’t have been punished by being 
sent to the front.” 

“Are you afraid, then, Mollica?” 

“I afraid? But don’t you know that if I 
catch sight of an Austrian I’ll eat him?” 

“Like the food you took from the gen¬ 
eral,” that rascal of a Pinocchio dared to 
remark. 

There was a chorus of laughs that stopped 
as if by magic at the sound of a certain roar 
in the distance and of something whistling 
through the air and very near. 

“There they are!” 

“We’re in it.” 

“Where?” 

“Where are they?” 

Who paid any attention now to Pinoc¬ 
chio? All of them had drawn close to one 
another and had rushed to the edge of the 
road, their guns pointed, to examine the dis¬ 
tant landscape. The mountain was very 

35 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

steep there and covered with thick vegeta¬ 
tion. Down at the bottom, toward the 
plain, there seemed to be an unexpected 
rise . . . after the steep descent a green 
stretch through which a river ran like a 
silver ribbon. Still farther, was a chain of 
low mountains, almost like a cloud on the 
edge of the peaceful horizon. 

There was the roar of some more shots 
and the whistling of the shells, and a branch 
of a tree was splintered and fell. 

Pinocchio, alone in the middle of tne road, 
felt a creeping up and down his spine and 
experienced a trembling in his legs that 
shook like a palsied man’s. The second 
time he heard a shell whistle he felt that 
he must find a hole in which to hide him¬ 
self. He looked about him and caught 
sight near by of an enormous larch-tree 
which pointed directly toward the heavens. 
I don’t know how to explain it, but the 
sight of it took away from Pinocchio the 
desire to hide himself under the ground and 
made him wish to climb toward the stars. 
He gave a spring and shinned up the big 
trunk in a flash. I bet you a plugged 
soldo against a lira that you would have 
done the same. . . ,j 

36 



(( 


»> 


I SEE THE SUET-EATERS 

















\ 





The Heart of Pinocchio 

“I see them! I see them!” 

“Who?” 

“Whom do you see?*' 

“Where are they? Where are you that 
we can’t see you?” 

“I am up here. 

“Bravo! And whom do you see?” Ber- 
saglierino asked. 

“I see the suet-eaters.” 

“Where are they?” 

“Down there where there is a kind of 
slope there is a town hidden among the 
trees ... up here you can see a roof and 
the spire of a bell-tower . . . you can see 
people on the roof . . . you can see some¬ 
thing glisten . . . now they are firing.” 

This time there were several reports, but 
they seemed to be aiming in another direc¬ 
tion, because there was not the usual whistle 
in the air. 

“Whom are they 'strafing’?” Corporal 
Fanfara asked himself. 

“I’ll 'strafe’ that scoundrel Pinocchio. 
If you don’t come down alive I will bring * 
you down dead with a bullet in the seat of 
your trousers.” 

“But listen! Look down there and see 
whom they’re giving it to,” cried the en- 

37 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

raged Bersaglierino, pointing out a march¬ 
ing column which was hurrying below them. 
“Our infantry!” 

“Yes, indeed. They will beat us to it. 
It’s a shame.” 

“Our company ought to start off at a 
double-quick.” 

“It must be a half-mile away.” 

“But the bersaglieri must get there first 
. . even if there are only the four of us.” 
“Sure thing.” 

“ Do you hear?” 

“Forward, Savoy!” 

And, heads lowered and bayonets fixed, 
they rushed down the slope. 

“Ho! boys! Ho! Mol-li-ca! Cor-po-ral! 
. . . Oh! They are going off without me! 
What a mean thing to do ! They leave me 
here at the top of this tree and run off. . . . 
But if they think they can play me such a 
trick they are mistaken. ... I am hun¬ 
gry as a wolf, and if I don’t get them to feed 
me, whom can I join? Run, run. . . . 
We’ll see who gets there first!” 

He climbed down the tree, grumbling as 
he went, tightened the belt of his trousers, 
drank in several deep breaths of air, and 

38 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

then tore off like an express train behind 
time. 

I will tell you at once, not to keep you 
in suspense, that the bersaglieri got there 
the first, the infantry second, and Pinoc¬ 
chio ... a good third. I call it a “good 
third” merely as a way of expressing it, be¬ 
cause when he arrived at the village our 
soldiers had already passed through it and 
had advanced some distance beyond, fol¬ 
lowing the Austrians, who had taken to their 
heels and who were suffering a sharp fire at 
short range. 

The village was so small that it didn't 
even deserve the name of one. There were 
ten houses in all besides the church with the 
bell-tower, and a long shed over which 
waved the white flag with the red cross. 
There was a deathlike silence everywhere. 
On the little square before the church some 
bodies of Austrian soldiers were lying; 
among them was that of an officer so ugly 
that he seemed to have died of fright, but 
there was a red spot on his back. Pinoc¬ 
chio was terrified at the sight of him, but 
he had such a longing for his sword, his 
automatic pistol, his handsome belt, his 
light-blue cape, and his cap that he per- 

39 





The Heart of Pinocchio 

suaded himself it was perfectly silly to be 
afraid of a dead Austrian, particularly when 
they weren’t afraid of live ones. Without 

too much reflection, 
he buckled on the 
dead man’s belt, 
armed himself with 
the pistol, wrapped 
himself in the blue 
cape, and pressed 
the cap down on his 
head. He was good 
to look at, I can as¬ 
sure you. 

The Hapsburg 
army had never had 
an officer who could 
be compared 
with this 
puppet who 
had now be¬ 
come a real 
boy. Pinoc¬ 
chio was 
prancing up and down in his new dis¬ 
guise, his sword clanking against the pave¬ 
ment, just like any little lieutenant, when 

he heard a horrible roar high up over- 

40 
















The Heart of Pinocchio 

head, then, a moment later, an explosion 
which shook the ground! When he lifted 
up his head to see what had happened he 
thought he caught sight of some one walking 
about on the church’s bell-tower. He saw 
a rag tied to a pole waving and, as if in reply 
to a signal, brumm! another shot that fell 
closer. Pinocchio, who was suspicious, went 
into the vestry and, pistol in hand, rushed 
up the steep little wooden stairs. He got 
to the top without even making the old 
worm-eaten stairs squeak. In the space 
where the bells hung a man in civilian’s 
clothes had his back turned toward him. 
He was looking off from the balcony, and 
kept on waving the red cloth. You could 
see the vast expanse of the plain, and 
among the green a strange, intermittent 
flash . . . then a puff . . . then you heard 
a roar, followed by a crash, like a. moving 
train rapidly approaching, then a tremen¬ 
dous explosion. The shells never fell as 
far as the town, but burst all around it, 
sending up columns of earth and smoke. 
And off there Pinocchio could see the ber- 
saglieri, the soldiers of his country. The 
traitor with his signals was directing fire 
on the Italian troops. 

41 






The Heart of Pinocchio 

Tell me truly, what would you have done 
if you had been in Pinocchio’s place? 
Would you have fired at the traitor? Yes 
or no. Well, Pinocchio did the same— 
cocked his pistol, shut his eyes, pulled the 
trigger, and pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum- 
pum, seven shots went off. He had ex¬ 
pected only one, and was so frightened 
that he pitched his weapon away and took 
to his heels, down the steps, without thought 
of the wretch, who, for his part, did no more 
signaling, I assure you! 

When he had got down to the square 
Pinocchio rushed across it, and was about 
to run in the direction where he had seen 
his bersaglieri fighting, when, passing by the 
shed where the Red Cross flag waved, he 
thought he heard the sound of several 
voices in a lively discussion. He stopped 
suddenly and very, very quietly approached 
a big window closed merely by a wire 
netting. Inside he saw on one side of the 
large room two rows of beds, in the middle 
a group of rough-looking soldiers, with 
waxed mustaches, completely armed, who 
were busy plotting together. Just at that 
moment they separated to go to bed. They 
took off their weapons, hid them under the 

4-2 




HE SAW A RAG TIED TO A POLE WAVING 









































The Heart of Pinocchio 

sheets, and slipped themselves into bed, 
drawing the covers up to their noses. 

"Wunderschonl" (“Fine.”) 

11 When Italian pigs come we make a co¬ 
lossal festival,” grunted a Croat and laughed 
boisterously. “We sick get well, and Ital¬ 
ians all croak.” 

“I’ll croak you,” muttered Pinocchio, 
who in a twinkle had understood the dev¬ 
iltry the wretches were planning. He made 
himself as small as he could, so that the 
cape dragged on the ground like a petticoat, 
slunk along the walls of the shed, then 
rushed off at full speed toward the fields. 
He was just passing the last house of the 
village when he found himself unexpectedly 
surrounded by a score of Austrian soldiers 
in a half-tipsy condition, so that they took 
him for their superior officer. He thought 
himself lost. 

“Lieutenant, don’t go farther. ’Talians 
still near and make croak all Croats.” 

“Croat? I a Croat!” 

“’Talians make croak Slovaks, too.” 

“Oh! Mamma!” 

“Jajar 

“Jaja!” 

Pinocchio had a flash of intuition; he 

43 





The Heart of Pinocchio 

hid his hand under his cape, unsheathed 
the sword, and, assuming so martial a man¬ 
ner that then and there he could have been 
taken for a handsome brother of William, 
he yelled and swore some doggerel which 
the dolts might think was Hungarian, Dal¬ 
matian, or Rumanian, spun ’round and con¬ 
tinued on his way to the Italian position. 
The Austrians followed him, bayonets fixed, 
convinced that the spirit of Tegetoff had 
come to life and was leading them to victory. 
But instead, when they had gone a hundred 
yards they were showered with bullets and 
had to fling themselves on the ground in 
order to escape immediate extermination. 
Pinocchio saw that he was being shot at 
more than the others, and didn’t know 
why. All around him the torn-up earth 
was strewn with plumes. 

‘‘1 should like to know why they are after 
me especially, who am not even firing, while 
they are sparing these monkeys who have 
followed me and are shooting like mad. 
Oh! Perhaps it is on account of the uni¬ 
form of that miserable officer. If that is 
the case, my dear ones, enough of your 
sport. ‘Oho! I am an Italian. Stop 
firing, for Heaven’s sake, so that I can tell 

44 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

you something important. Oho! Enough, 
I say!’” 

And standing up straight, he hurled the 
cape and the cap away from him, and with 
no thought of danger, made for the spot 
from which came the Italian fire. 

Then came the end of the scene. The 
Croats behind him jumped to their feet like 
so many jacks-in-the-box, threw their arms 
about and waved their hands in the air. 
. . . From a hedge not far off, a company 
of bersaglieri came running up and sur¬ 
rounded them, yelling, “Surrender!” 

“If one of them moves, stick him like a 
toad,” commanded a lieutenant. 

“Don’t worry, sir, I’ll spit him for your 
roasting.” 

“Secure their officer.” 

“Heh, boys! don’t joke . . . lower your 
bayonets. I’m no Austrian officer. I am 
Pinocchio. Mollica, don’t you recognize 
me?” 

“You beastly little creature, what game 
are you playing? But I’ll run you through, 
all the same.” 

“What’s up now?” 

“Lieutenant, Mollica wants to make be¬ 
lieve that I am an Austrian lieutenant, be- 
5 45 


The Hrart of Pinocchio 

cause I was the cause of his losing his place 
as orderly with General Win-the-War, but I 
am Pinocchio. Do you know me? I am 
glad. Order these twenty apes, which I 
have brought all the way here, to be 
bound, and then if you give me thirty men 
I will guarantee to catch some others that 
I have put to bed in the big barracks under 
the protection of the Red Cross, who pre¬ 
tended they were ill, but who had hid¬ 
den their guns under the covers to ‘croak 
Italian hogs.’” 

“Where are they?” 

“ I’ll tell you now . . . then I’ll show you 
up on the tower what a pretty thing I found— 
a traitor who was making signals to some one 
far off, and then, boom! there came one of 
those shells that burst. I meant to let him 
have one little bullet, but the pistol fired 
so many at him that I threw everything 
away. ...” 

“But come on! Come on! Show me 
the way!” 

“Right away, but on one condition— 
that when I have guided you, you will 
give me something to eat, because I am 
so hungry that I could eat that miserable 
Mollica.” 


46 



“you BEASTLY little creature, what game are you 

PLAYING ?” 







4 


S 









The Heart of Pinoccliio 

“Come on, boy, to the village. Double 
quick!’’ 

Who would have imagined that his regi¬ 
ment had been fighting continuously for ten 
hours, leaving some dead on the field and 
sending not a few wounded to the ambu¬ 
lance? There on the square of the village 
won by Italy, beneath the shadow of the 
red, white, and green flag that waved from 
the summit of the little tower, the brave 
boys gave vent to unrestrained joy. It was 
time for rations. In the camp kitchens big 
pots were steaming, but the soldiers did not 
crowd around them as usual to fill their 
canteens. The bersaglieri’s attention was 
held by a sight which put them in good 
humor, and good humor in war is a rare 
thing. Pinocchio was eating! He had 
swallowed three platefuls of soup in five 
minutes, and as he continued to grunt that 
he was hungry, they had given him a can¬ 
teen full to the top and slipped into it a 
piece of meat that would have been suffi¬ 
cient to satisfy the hunger of four city 
employees. 

“Look out for bones!’’ 

“Are you going to eat them all?’’ 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“If he stays with us he’ll break the 
Government.” 

“Look out, boys, he’ll end by bursting.” 

“Don’t you split open with all the Aus¬ 
trians you have eaten, for pork is more 
indigestible than asses’ meat.” 

“Heh! don’t find fault with the food.” 

“And what kind of meat do you call this?” 

“The best beef.” 

“Lie! I am familiar with animals . . . 
you give beef to the officers; donkey-meat 
to the soldiers.” 

“Look out, you Pinocchio, you’ll get into 
trouble with that tongue of yours.” 

“Then let me eat in peace. You are all 
staring at me as if I were a Zulu chewing a 
hen with her feathers on. My tongue can’t 
be dainty both talking and eating.” 

“Let’s murder him.” 

And then there was a loud burst of 
laughter from all. Pinocchio was shoveling 
food into his mouth with both his hands, 
so that his face was red as a cock’s comb 
and he could scarcely breathe. 

They were already as fond of him as if 
he were their son. His achievements had 
won for him a certain respect even from 

the officers whom he amused with his 

48 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

monkeyshines. It had been decided to 
adopt Pinocchio as the “son of the regi¬ 
ment” and to keep him at the front as a 
mascot. He was to live with the troops and 
to wear the uniform of a Boy Scout. The 
soldiers with common accord had put off 
his costume to an opportune moment. Do 
you want to know the reason? The brave 
boys were afraid to stick Pinocchio into 
puttees with so many spiral bands because 
his little thin legs would have frightened peo¬ 
ple. For the time being they had him put 
on a pair of short trousers which dragged 
behind him on the ground, a little cape 
like a bersagliere’s, and a fez with a light- 
blue tassel so long that it touched his heels. 
This tassel was Pinocchio’s delight, who, in 
order to look at it, always walked along with 
his head over his shoulder, and so would 
keep bumping into first one thing and then 
another. One day the mischievous Mol- 
lica made him run into one of the quarter¬ 
master-corps mules, and Pinocchio saluted 
and asked its pardon. But when he ran into 
officers, sergeants, corporals, and soldiers, 
instead of saluting he swore at them all. 

It is three days later. General Win-the- 
War’s troops have not advanced. Our ber- 

49 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

saglieri are still in camp near —r—. It is 
a sultry, thundering afternoon. Many of 
the soldiers are sleeping. The Bersaglierino 
is playing cards with Mollica. Corporal 
Fanfara is shaving. Stecca is practising on 
his cornet, trying a variation on a well- 
known tune. Pinocchio, in the back of the 
tent, is snoring so loudly that Mollica every 
now and then hurls a handful of earth at his 
nose to make him lower his note. 

Suddenly the boredom is broken, every 
one jumps up and runs out to a certain 
point and crowds around an automobile 
that has just arrived. Pinocchio wakes up 
with a start, finds his mouth full of grit, his 
nose dirty, and hears all the noise about 
him—has a terrible fright, lets out a yell, 
and rushes out of the tent. But he is 
scarcely outside before he feels himself 
caught up by his legs and whirled around 
on the ground. He gets up again and is 
face to face with Bersaglierino, who has 
not left his post and who laughs loudly at 
Pinocchio’s plight. 

“ What has happened?” 

“The mail has come.” 

“And you’re making all this racket for 
that? I thought it was the Austrians.” 

So 




The Heart of Pinocchio 

“You little coward, you!” 

“That's enough, Bersaglierino, if you say 
that to me again I’ll give you such a kick 
that will change your shape. But why 
don’t you, 
too, go to see 
if you have 
any letters?” 

Who do 
you think 
would write 
me? I am as 
alone in the 
world as a dog, 
just like you, 
it seems.” 

“Yes, that’s 
so,” replied 
Pinocchio, 
swallowing 
hard, because he had suddenly felt his 
throat tighten at the thought of Papa 
Geppetto, from whom he had had no news 
for many a long day. 

“It is a red-letter day for the others. 
Mollica will have a letter from his father, 
Fanfara news from his two babies, Stecca 
kisses from his wife. ... I might be killed 

5i 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

to-morrow by a bullet in the stomach and 
they would let me rot in a ditch and that 
would be the end.” 

Mollica came back, his arms full of news¬ 
papers. His father, a news-dealer in Naples, 
sent him a copy of every unsold publica¬ 
tion, knowing that anything may come in 
useful in war-times, even old news. 

“Heh! Bersaglierino! You want us to 
play the postman and yet you don’t take 
any trouble to get your scented letter.” 

“You are joking?” 

“No, it’s no joke. Here is one really for 
you, and I congratulate you because if you 
are engaged she must be at least a countess.” 

The Bersaglierino took the letter his com¬ 
rade held out to him and read the address 
over several times. There was no doubt; it 
was his name that was written on the scented 
envelope the color of a blush rose. He 
turned pale and stood for a moment un¬ 
decided, then he tore it open and read: 

Dear Bersaglierino, —I saw how sad and alone 
you were at the moment of your departure, so I felt 
it was my duty as a patriotic Italian girl to write 
to you. Go and fight for our country; do your duty 
bravely, and remember that in thought I follow and 
will follow you every minute. If you return valor- 

52 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

ously I will meet you and tell you how happy I am; 
if you fall wounded I will go to your hospital bed 
to soothe your suffering; if you die for your country 
my flowers shall lie on your grave and your name 
will always be written in my heart. Long live Italy! 

Your war-godmother, 

Patina. 

11 Long live Italy!” Bersaglierino shouted 
like mad. He caught up his hat with its 
cock plumes and tossed it in the air with 
all his force, seized Pinocchio who was stand¬ 
ing by him, and lifted him up in both his 
arms, pulled his cap off his head, and then 
twirled it round on his pate, scratching the 
poor boy’s nose. 

“ What’s got into you? Are you crazy?” 

“Am I crazy? I am happy! I am not 
alone any more, do you understand? I am 
no longer an unlucky fellow like you with 
no one belonging to him. But I am fonder 
of you than ever. Give me a kiss . . .” 
and he pressed such a hearty kiss on his 
nose that his comrades laughed. But Pi¬ 
nocchio longed to cry. The heart in his 
body beat a violent tick-tock, tick-tock. 

“Have you read what Franz Joe’s news¬ 
papers say?—‘Italian soldiers are brigands 
who do not respect civilians or the wounded 
in the hospitals.’ That means you, dear 

S3 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

Pinocchio, because you shot the traitor on 
the tower. You can be sure that if the 
suet-eaters win they will make you pay for 
the crime.” 

"Me?” 

“Yes, indeed, you! You don’t intend to 
say that I killed him, do you? And you, 
thank God, are not an enlisted Italian sol¬ 
dier, therefore ...” 

“I understand.” 

The camp was quiet once again; indeed, I 
might say that tender memories had soft¬ 
ened its youthful exuberance. The voices 
from home were keeping the soldiers silent. 
It was as if every letter their eyes fell on 
was speaking to them quietly and they were 
blessed in listening, their faces shining with 
happiness. Corporal Fanfara held a sheet 
of paper on which there was nothing but 
some strange scrawls. He gazed at it with 
delight, and while two big tears ran down 
his cheeks he murmured in his Venetian 
dialect, “My darling little rascals!” These 
scrawls of theirs were more welcome to him 
than the letter from his wife which told of 
privations, anxiety, and troubles. Private 
Mollica was acting like a detective, search¬ 
ing through the newspaper pages for his 

54 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

father’s dirty finger-marks; and as there 
was little trouble in finding them he kept 
repeating every moment, ‘‘This was made 
by my dear old man.” Then he kissed the 
marks so often that his whole mouth was 
black with printer’s ink. 

Shortly after every one was writing, 
some bent over their writing-tablets, some 
on the back of a good-natured comrade, 
some stretched out on the ground, some on 
the edge of a bench, on the staves of a bar¬ 
rel, on a tree-trunk, with pencils, fountain- 
pens, on post-cards, envelopes, letter-paper 
spilled out miraculously from portfolios, 
bags, and canteens. Every one was writ¬ 
ing. The Bersaglierino seemed to be com¬ 
posing a poem. He gesticulated, whacked 
himself on the ear, beat time with his pen 
that squirted ink in every direction, and 
every now and then declaimed under his 
breath certain phrases that were so moving 
that they made even him weep. 

Pinocchio was as silent and gloomy as 
the hood of a dirty kitchen stove. Squat¬ 
ting at the entrance to the tent, he kept 
glancing at his companions, and every now 
and then he would scratch his head so vig¬ 
orously that he might have been currycomb- 

55 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

ing a donkey. When Pinocchio scratched 
his head in that way . . . Well, now you 
know that matters were serious, but I tell 
you they were so serious that he had the 
courage to interrupt the Bersaglierino in his 
literary studies. 

“ Excuse me, but will you do me a 
favor ?” 

“What do you want? Keep quiet . . . 
leave me alone . . . you make me lose my 
thread of thought . . .” 

“So you write with thread, do you? 
Are you aware that they don’t use this 
any more?” 

“Stop your nonsense. Leave me alone, 
puppet.” 

“ Do me a favor and then ...” 

“Whatisit? Spit it out!” 

“ Lend me a pencil and a piece of paper.” 

“You want to write, too?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you, too, have some one in the 
world who interests you?” 

“Yes . . . perhaps.” 

“A godmother like mine?” 

“Hum! No indeed.” 

“You are serious about wanting to 
write?” 

56 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Yes.” 

“Here’s paper and pencil, then. Do you 
know how to write?” 

“Once I knew how.” 

“All right. Then let me see it.” 

“Gladly.” 

Pinocchio rested his elbows on his knees, 
chin on his clasped hands, and, biting his 
pencil, lost himself in profound meditation. 

“Excuse me, Bersaglierino.” 

“Ho! Finished already?” 

“No . . . that is . . . yes, I have fin¬ 
ished beginning, but ... I don’t know 
what you put before the beginning.” 

“Write, ‘Dear So-and-so,’ or ‘My dar¬ 
ling, etc., etc.’” 

“But you see I can’t put either ‘dear’ or 
‘my darling.’ ” 

“So you are writing to a creditor?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Heavens! Put his first name, his last 
name, swear at him, and that’s enough.” 

“Excuse me, Bersaglierino ...” 

“Oh, are you still there?” 

“Yes. ... I haven’t been able to start 
the beginning because . . .” 

57 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Do you or do you not know how to 
write?” 

“Like a lawyer.” 

“Then?” 

“I don’t know what his last name is.” 

“Whose?” 

“Franz Joe’s.” 

“Writing to him? You want to write to 
him? To that miserable Hapsburg?” 

The news spread like lightning through 
the camp. The soldiers passed it from 
mouth to mouth, laughing like mad: Pi¬ 
nocchio was writing to Emperor Franz Jo¬ 
seph! This was interesting. They must 
know what the letter said. It would cer¬ 
tainly be something to amuse them. So 
walking quietly, as if they were all eager 
to take him in the very act, they approached 
the tent where Pinocchio was composing his 
missive, not without difficulty. He had not 
been writing for several minutes and the 
words seemed so long to put down on paper. 
He had to keep thinking of the spelling, and 
the verbs bothered him terribly. When he 
raised his head to draw a breath of relief 
before re-reading what he had managed to 
write, he found himself surrounded by all 
the regiment. 

58 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Oh, you are well brought up, aren’t 
you? Who taught you to stick your noses 
into other people’s business?’’ 

“To whom have you written?’’ 



“To the one I wanted to.” 

“Let’s see the scribbling.” 

“Look in your mirror and you will see 
worse lines on your own face.” 

“We want to read the letter.” 

“But if you are a pack of illiterates . . 
“Listen, either you will let me see it or 
6 59 





















































The Heart of Pinocchio 

I will take you by one ear and the letter 
with the other hand, and I’ll carry you both 
off to the censor, who will haul you before 
a court martial that will condemn you to be 
shot in the back.” 

“ Oh, do you really want to see it, Mollica ? ’ ’ 

“ You heard what I said.” 

“On one condition.” 

“ What’s that?” 

“That you will take charge of it and see 
that it gets to its address.” 

“All right. Hand it here, you puppy. 
Listen to what he writes: 

‘‘Mr. Franz Hapsburg, 

In his house in Austria, 

“You wrote in the papers that the Italian soldiers 
are rascals because they kill civilians and wounded 
Ostrians. I want you to know that you are mistaken, 
because as you know the traitor was killed by a pistol 
that shot off Ostrian bullets by itself while it was in 
my hands who am not in the army. That’s how our 
soldiers found the traitor already dead, the traitor who 
made signals from the church tower, so that the shells 
fell on the ruins. As for the wounded in the horspital 
I can asshure you that they were better off than me 
and you, and that they had guns between their leggs 
under the sheets. He who tells lies goes to hell and 
you will certainly go there, but just now I’d like to 
send you there myself who don’t give a hang for you. 

“Pinocchio.” 


60 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

I can’t describe to you what took place 
after the letter had been read. 

They gave the poor youngster such a 
feast that they had to put him to bed in 
a hammock. Before Private Mollica went 
to sleep he kept repeating: “I have prom¬ 
ised to take your letter to Franz Joseph. 
. . . You see if I don’t send it through 
all the ranks till it reaches his own hands. 
On Mollica’s honor! ... I have promised 
to take your letter to Franz Joseph!” 


CHAPTER IV 


How Pinocchio Learned That War Changes 
Everything—Even the Meaning of Words 

T HE bersaglieri had passed the Isonzo 

and were intrenched at- (censor). 

You certainly know now what the Isonzo is, 
because war teaches geography better than 
do teachers in the schools; so I don’t in¬ 
tend to explain it to you. Pinocchio had 
followed his friends, and I assure you no 
one regretted his coming. When there were 
orders to carry to the rear or purchases to 
be made, it was Pinocchio who attended to 
them. Slender as a lizard and quick as a 
squirrel, he was out of the trenches without 
being seen and slipped along the furrows 
and ditches and the bushes with marvelous 
dexterity. He had been absolutely forbid¬ 
den to approach the loopholes, and when 
they caught him about to disobey he got 
such boxes on the ears that he had to rub 

67, 





ONE DAY HE MANAGED TO CAPTURE A PIG AND TO DRAG IT ALONG BEHIND HIM 











/ 






The Heart of Pinocchio 

them for half an hour afterward. Mollica, 
and the Bersaglierino in particular, kept 
their eyes on him, so that they punished 
him often. 

“I’d like to know why it is you two can 
stand with your noses against the hole and 
I mayn’t.” 

“Because of the mosquitoes .” 

“Who cares for them? I haven’t the 
slightest fear of mosquitoes.” 

But when he saw them carry off a poor 
soldier hit in the middle of the forehead and 
understood that the “mosquitoes” were 
Austrian bullets, he gained a little wisdom. 
While the soldiers were suffering from the 
trench life which restrained their ardent 
natures, keeping them still and watchful, 
the rogue of a Pinocchio amused himself 
with all kinds of jokes. Dirty as he could 
be, he was always grubbing with his nails 
in the ground to deepen the trench, to make 
some new breastwork, to build up an escarp. 
If they sent him out to find logs of wood 
to repair the roofs of the dugouts he would 
come back laden with all sorts of things. 
Hens and eggs were his favorite booty. 
One day he managed to capture a pig and 
to drag it along behind him. But when 

63 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

they got near the trenches the cussed animal 
began to squeal so horribly that the Aus¬ 
trians opened up a terrific fire on him. 
For fear of the “mosquitoes” Pinocchio had 
to let him go, and the pig ran to take ref¬ 
uge among his brothers, the enemy. 

That evening it rained cats and dogs. 
The treftch was one slimy pool. The rain 
dripped everywhere, penetrating, baring the 
parapets which collapsed, squirting mud 
and gluing the feet of the soldiers, who, wet 
to the bone, had to scurry through the wire 
to carry ammunition to safety and to re¬ 
pair the damage done to the trench. Pinoc¬ 
chio, barelegged, ran back and forth, be- 
mired up to his hair, to give a helping hand 
to his friends. 

“What fun! We seem to be turning into 
crabs.” 

“You are a beastly little puppy!” 

“Poor Mollica! You really make me 
sorry for you.” 

“I make you sorry for me?” 

“Certainly. I shouldn’t want to be you 
in all this downpour.” 

“Why?” 

“Because this rain will melt your sugary 
nature.” 


64 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

Mollica, to convince him of the contrary, 
started to administer one of his usual boxes 


r 

I 

I 



on the ear, but he slipped and fell, face 
down, into the mud. 

“Are you comfortable, Private Mollica? 
Tell me were you ever in a softer bed than 
now? . . .You look to me like a roll 
dipped in chocolate. ... Bersaglierino, 

65 























The Heart of Pinocchio 

come and see how ugly he is! All chalky 
up into his hair. ... I never saw any one 
look such an idiot!” 



“I wish they would murder you, you 
beastly little puppy!” 

After struggling about in the mud he 
managed to get to his feet again and had 
almost caught him, but in one spring Pinoc¬ 
chio was far away. The telephone dugout 

was a little deeper than the trench and the 

66 












The Heart of Pinocchio 

water was rapidly filling it up. It was al¬ 
ready up to the operator’s knees. A crowd 
of soldiers were working hard to stop the 
flood. 

“What are you doing, stupids? Do you 
think you can bail out this puddle with a 
cap? You are green. We ought to have 
big Bertha. . . .” 

He didn’t get in another word. They 
took hold of him by his arms and legs and 
soused him into the dirty water and held 
him under till he had drunk a cupful. The 
telephone operator would have liked to see 
him dead, then and there. 

“Hold him under till he is as swollen as 
a toad. He was calling down misfortune 
on us, wishing that a shell would fall on us. 
As if this rain weren’t enough (che-chew, 
che-chew!); we are chilled to the marrow 
(che-chew!) and are likely to die bravely of 
cold . . . (che-chew!).” 

“Enough! Let me go! Help! Bersa- 
glierino! Mollica-a-a! ’ ’ 

“What are you doing to him? Let him 
go. Shame on you!” yelled Bersaglierino, 
running up. 

“But don’t you know that he was wish¬ 
ing a shell would hit us, the little wretch?” 

67 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

41 Just as if we hadn’t enough troubles 
now.” 

“Of course you have enough, and one of 
your troubles is that you are regular 
beasts,” cried Pinocchio as soon as he could 
get his breath. “I said I wished for Ber¬ 
tha, the cook in Papa Geppetto’s house, to 
sweep away the water in here, but now I 
wish I had a broom in my hand to break 
its handle against your ribs.” 

“But don’t you know that a 1 Big Bertha’ 
is a Boche gun that would have blown us 
into a thousand pieces?” 

“ So, little devil, do you understand? And 
now that you have learned your lesson, be 
off with you.” 

There was nothing else for poor Pinocchio 
to do but to spit out the mud still in his 
mouth and turn on his heel. 

“ Bersaglierino, I would have believed 
anything but that words change their 
meaning in this way. With these idiots 
you have to pay attention to what you say. 
They made me swallow so much ditch- 
water that it will be a miracle if I don’t 
have little fish swimming around in my 
stomach.” 

It stopped raining, but as if the Aus- 

68 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

trians didn’t want to give the bersaglieri 
time to repair the damages caused by the 
bad weather, they began a furious bom¬ 
bardment of the trench. The “ mosqui¬ 
toes” kept up a terrible singing. Huge 
projectiles churned up the ground all around, 
digging out deep holes, raising whirls of 
earth, throwing off shreds of stone and 
steel in every direction. One shell had 
fallen near the telephone and had done great 
damage. The soldiers couldn’t venture any 
distance from the dugout to aim at the 
enemy who was firing at them with such ac¬ 
curacy. Mud prevented their movements. 
They couldn’t change their positions be¬ 
cause the slippery earth offered no foothold. 
It was impossible to excavate deep because 
the earth slid ‘down. It was a critical 
moment. Several men had been killed, 
the wounded were moaning bitterly, the 
dying were groaning. . . .But the Italian 
bersaglieri did not lose courage and stood 
up against the foe, showing a genuine dis¬ 
regard for their lives. Pinocchio longed to 
cry. He wasn’t thinking of the danger to 
himself, but of the fact that if this devilish 
fire kept up much longer all his bersaglieri 

would be killed. Wasn’t there anybody to 

69 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

look out for them? What was our artillery 
doing? Did they really intend to let them 
all be massacred? 

He had scarcely thought this when he 
heard behind him the thunder of Italian 
guns. A quarter of an hour later and the 
Austrians were quite quiet. But the situa¬ 
tion hadn’t improved. Orders had come 
from the second line to hold out at all costs 
because it wouldn’t be possible to relieve 
them until the next evening. An attack in 
force was expected every minute. 

The captain assembled his company and 
said: “Men, we must stick and be ready 
for anything. We can’t have reinforce¬ 
ments, but to-night they will send us che - 
vaux de frise and barbed wire. But I don’t 
want to be caught like a bird in a net. We 
have plenty of ‘jelly.’ If two would vol¬ 
unteer to carry a couple of pounds of it 
under the entanglements of those gentle¬ 
men over yonder we might be able to change 
our lodgings. They have a fine trench of 
reinforced concrete with rooms and good 
beds and bathroom. We’d be better off 
there than in this mud. What do you 
say, boys? Is there any one who . . .” 

They didn’t even let him finish. All 

70 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

stepped forward, and, if I am to tell you 
the truth, Pinocchio, too, but no one no¬ 
ticed him. Mollica and the Bersaglierino 
were chosen. 

It grew dark. Some of them, completely 
worn out, dozed leaning up against the side 
of the trench. The Bersaglierino was writ¬ 
ing rapidly a letter in pencil. Mollica had 
pulled out of his knapsack the old news¬ 
papers his father had sent him and seemed 
about to take up his old studies of finger¬ 
prints. There were tears in his eyes. 

“Heh! Mollica, you look as if you 
weren’t pleased with the duty the captain 
has given you.” 

“Well?” 

“But you ought to let me go.” 

“You? But how do you suppose they 
would let a boy like you carry jelly?” 

“Do you think I would eat it all up? 
I won’t say that I mightn’t taste it, espe¬ 
cially if it is that golden-yellow kind that 
shivers like a paralytic old man, but I 
would carry out the order like any one 
else. . . . Only, I can’t understand how for 
a little bit of jelly those scoundrels will give 
up their comfortable trench. It’s true that 
they eat all sorts of miserable kinds of food 

71 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

and that Esau sold his birthright for a mess 
of pottage, but . . 

“Shut up, you chatterbox! You’ll see 
what will happen. I’ll explain to you that 
'jelly’ in war-time is what we call a mixture 
of stuff that when put in a pipe under the 
wire entanglements and set off by a fuse will 
blow you up sky-high in a thousand pieces, 
if you don’t take to your heels in time.” 

‘ 1 And you . . . want to go and be blown 
up?” 

“No. I hope to come back safe and 
sound, and I have still to send your letter 
to Franz Joey.” 

Pinocchio was silent and hid himself in a 
corner without another word. I can’t tell 
you exactly if he had some sad presenti¬ 
ment or if his disillusion resulting from 
Mollica’s technical explanation of “jelly” 
had put him in a bad humor. There was 
no doubt about it—war had changed the 
dictionary. He was still more certain of 
this when, an hour later, he saw the “Frisian 
horses” arrive. He was expecting beasts 
with at least four legs, and instead he saw 
them drag in front of the trenches a huge 
roll of iron wound up in an enormous skein 

of barbed wire. But there was still a 

72 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

greater surprise in store for him. That 
very night he was to find out that in war¬ 
time not only the value of words changes, 
but that there are some which are canceled 
from certain persons’ vocabulary. 

It was night . . . and there was nothing 
to be seen and you couldn’t even hear the 
traditional fly. From the Austrian trench 
there came a dull regular noise. It seemed 
as if a lot of pigs were squealing. Instead, 
it was the Croats who were snoring. No 
one slept in the Italian trenches. There 
was a strange coming and going, a fantas¬ 
tic flittering of shadows. There was low 
talking, commands were passed from mouth 
to mouth and whispered in the ear—every 
one was making preparations. Mollica and 
the Bersaglierino had put steel helmets on 
their heads and had shields of the same 
metal on their arms. 

“But what are you going to do? You 
look like the statue of Perseus in the cos¬ 
tume of a soldier.” 

“I would almost rather be in his place 
and with no more clothes than he has on 
instead of in this get-up . . . but what’s 
there to be done about it? I promised you 
to take the letter to Franz Joey.” 

7 73 . 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

A little later Mollica and Bersaglierino 
left the trench and wriggled along the 
ground like serpents, carrying with them 
big metal boxes. The bersaglieri took their 
places behind the loopholes, their muskets 
in position, and stood there motionless, anx¬ 
ious, and restless. Pinocchio, too, wanted 
to see what was happening, and, taking 
advantage of his guardians’ carelessness, 
slipped out of the trench and squatted 
down in a big hole which an enemy pro¬ 
jectile had hollowed out twenty yards away. 

The poor youngster was very sad. The 
black night, the silence everywhere, the 
preparations he had watched and could not 
understand, were the causes of his mel¬ 
ancholy. 

“But how under the sun did it ever enter 
Bersaglierino’s head to offer himself for 
this expedition?” he thought. “He might 
have let some one else go. Not so bad for 
Mollica. He’ll eat up the Austrians like 
waffles. If any one dares to play a trick 
on him he’ll land him a few good blows and 
put him where he belongs, but Bersaglierino 
... so little and so frail. ... If any mis¬ 
fortune happens to him ...” 

Some time went by, I can’t say how long, 

74 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

but it was quite a little while, because Pi¬ 
nocchio had almost fallen asleep, when the 
air was shaken by two tremendous explo¬ 
sions. He woke with a start, saw two red 
flashes shining for an instant on a shower of 
fragments thrown up to a great height . . . 
then blackness and the fiendish rattling of 
the machine-guns and crackle of musket 
fire. Suddenly a long white shaft of light 
broke the darkness, coming from no one 
knew where, waving to the right and to the 
left, and fixing itself on the ground between 
the two trenches, which were immediately 
showered by shells. 

“And Bersaglierino? And Mollica?” Pi¬ 
nocchio asked himself, anxiously, feeling his 
throat tighten up. 

Suddenly a black shadow was outlined in 
the gleam of a searchlight that was oper¬ 
ated from a distance. It crawled along the 
ground, moving by starts. They had seen 
it, too, from the trenches and there were 
confused cries of, “Come on!” . . . 
“Bravo!” . . . “A few more steps!” . . . 
“Stick to it!” 

And the figure seemed to gain new 
strength and to bound like a wild beast. 
But who was it? Surely the Bersaglierino. 

75 • 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

The form was small, slender, and very 
quick. Mollica was large and slow. What 
had become of him? Between the roar of 
the explosions and the whistle of the shells 
there came a shrill cry of anguish. The 
little shadow slid along, then a leap in the 
silvery ray, and it was lost in the blackness 
of the earth tom by the rain of steel. 

“Oh, beasts that they are! They 
have murdered him!” Pinocchio screamed. 
‘ 1 Enough! Enough! Wretches! Don ’ t you 
see that he has ceased to move? Stop 
shooting. . . . Give him time to recover. 
. . . Perhaps he is wounded.” 

It seemed that the Austrian fire grew 
even more murderous. 

Pinocchio, beside himself with fury, 
mshed out of his hiding-place and in a 
couple of bounds was back in the trench. 

“They have wounded Bersaglierino. . . . 
He is there . . . out there in the No Man’s 
Land. . . . Help him . . . don’t let him 
die so.” 

They sprang over the top to rescue their 
wounded comrades, but had scarcely gone 
a step before they were lost to him. 

Pinocchio lost his head. He sprang out 

of the dugout and ran as fast as he could 

76 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

into the spot still illuminated by the ray of 
silver. He stumbled, fell, got up again, 
fell once more, but kept on crawling on his 
hands and knees. ... He heard a groan, 
felt a body, lifted it in his arms, and, gath¬ 
ering all his strength together, began to 
drag it toward the trench. All at once he 
felt his legs give way and he let out a yell of 
terror. He was answered by another from 
a hundred valiant throats; he saw a strange 
flash, felt a hurricane strike him, a wave 
roll over him . . . but before losing his 
senses there came to him the cry of victory. 
The Italian bersaglieri had bayoneted those 
who had wounded Bersaglierino and had 
won from the enemy one more portion of 
their country. 

A little later the stretcher-bearers were 
able to gather up the wounded from the 
field of honor. 


CHAPTER V 


In Which Pinocchio Discovers That Some¬ 
times When You Want to Advance You 
Have to Take a Step Backward 

F OR a long while Pinocchio didn’t know 
whether he was alive or dead. Then 
after a time he seemed to be dreaming, but 
the dreams were so queer that . . . just 
imagine, he thought he was a puppet again, 
asleep on a chair with his feet resting on 
a brazier full of lighted charcoal, that one 
of his feet was on fire and that the flame, 
little by little, was creeping up his leg. 
And, just as once before when something 
similar had happened, the dream became a 
painful reality. However, there was an¬ 
other dream that comforted him. A lovely 
woman’s smiling face would come close to 
him and he would *hear soft, affectionate 
words. It was the queerest thing possible! 
It seemed to him that this face was set in 

7S 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

a lovely frame of light-blue hair which came 
down like a veil, like a cape enfolding the 
graceful form of a young girl. Some one 
had told him that her name was Fatina, 
and he kept repeating the name, as once . .. 
when he was still a little 
puppet and the girl with 
blue hair ... But what 
had happened to him? 

One morning he 
opened his eyes and dis¬ 
covered that he was in 
a little white 
bed in a 
white room, 
and that to 
right and 
left of him 
in two other beds were two wounded men 
all enveloped in bandages. 

‘ ‘ B ersaglierino! B ersaglierino!” cried Pi¬ 
nocchio, trying to raise himself up in bed. 
But a horrid pain made him fall back on 
the pillow and forced him to scream loudly. 
The door of the little room opened and a 
Red Cross nurse in her blue uniform en¬ 
tered swiftly. 



79 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Oh! At last! But be good and don’t 
try to move! The Bersaglierino is here on 
your right; he is better, but you must let 
him be quiet, and you, too, need to rest.” 

“Tell me, Fatina, is the Bersaglierino 
really alive?” 

“ Don’t you see him? Here he is. When 
he wakes up you can say a few words to 
him. Yesterday he was so eager to know 
about you, but you couldn’t speak to him.” 

“Listen, Fatina, and I . . . am I really 
alive?” 

“It seems so to me.” 

“But am I . . . made of wood or . . 

“You are made of iron.” 

“Of iron? Don’t joke so with me, Fa¬ 
tina. If you want my nose to grow longer, 
dearest lady, or if you want me to turn back 
into a wooden puppet, I am ready to do so; 
but not of iron, no. I am too afraid of rust.” 

“But what are you talking about? Let 
me feel your pulse. No, that’s all right, 
no fever. I said you were made of iron 
because you have come out of it all so won¬ 
derfully. You were threatened with gas 
gangrene, and if they had not amputated 
at once, it would have been the end of you, 
but instead ...” 


80 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Please, please . . . what did they do 
to me?” 

“They cut off your injured leg.” 

“My leg!” 

“Yes, indeed; they couldn’t help it.” 

“And when did they cut it off?” 

“Three days ago.” 

“You are perfectly certain of this?” 

“I was present.” 

“And I . . . wasn’t I present?” 

“I think so.” 

“And how is it I didn’t know anything 
about it?” 

“You were asleep.” 

“I think it was you who were dreaming. 
Look.” 

Before Fatina could stop him Pinocchio 
caught the covers and threw them off. One 
leg was indeed missing and just the one 
which he had dreamed had been burned by 
the brazier. He saw a heap of bloody ban¬ 
dages and let out such a scream that he 
made the other two wounded start up. 

The one on the left, who looked like a 
monk in a hood, because from under the 
bands which bound his head a long shaggy 
beard was sticking out, cried in annoyance: 

“Heh! What is it, a locomotive? You 

81 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

are making as much noise as an enemy's 
cannon." 

“Be quiet, be quiet!" 

“Bersaglierino, have you seen what they 
did to me? They’ve carried off one of my 
legs without asking my permission." 

“And they took off one of my arms, and 
they’ve made a hole in my head and cut 
open my stomach." 

“But what kind of dirty tricks are these? 
I want my leg. ... I want my leg!" 

“If it were still on you it would be all 
swollen and black. Be silent, shut up, and 
thank God that they haven’t taken the 
other one. Because Major Cutemup is 
here, and when he begins to amputate it is 
hard to get him to stop. Imagine, they 
wanted to cut off my nose." 

“I want my leg!" 

“Be good." 

“Fatina, I beg you, make them make me 
another one. Write to Geppetto to make 
me another one, even of wood, but I want 
to be able to walk and run. I want to go 
back to the war, I do!" 

The patient on the left jumped out of his 
bed and, in giving him a kiss, brushed his 
face with his bushy beard. 

82 


The Heart of Pinocchio 


“ There, you are a brave boy. You 
please me. ... We will have another leg 
made for you, and if you want to go back 
to see the Boches you can come with me. 
Sister Fatina, is it not 
true that they’re going 
to make him a new 
leg?” 

14 Certainly.” 

“Of wood?” 

“And with machin¬ 
ery inside so that you 
can move it as if it 
were a real leg.” 

“Then . . .” 

“Will you be 
good?” 

“Yes.. .but as soon 
as I catch sight of 
Major Cutemup I’ll 
tell him a few things I 
think of him.” 

“How are you, Bersaglierino?” 

“Better, Fatina dear.” 

“Be brave.” 

Then she moved softly away, as noise¬ 
less as a dream. 

“Did you see, Pinocchio? Fatina kept 

83 







The Heart of Pinocchio 

her word. She had scarcely heard that I 
was wounded before she hurried to my bed. 
She is an angel and I am quite happy. But 
I owe it to you that I am alive. I had four 
bullets in my back. . . . Those dogs had 
got the range on me, and if you hadn’t 
come to my aid they would have finished 
me. . . . And you weren’t lucky, either— 
they shot your leg to pieces, and if the com¬ 
pany hadn’t appeared . . . But we won! 
Hurrah for Italy!” 

“And Mollica?” 

“Dead. They found him near the wire, 
surrounded by a heap of dead enemies. 
He made a regular slaughter. He had your 
letter to Franz Joseph stuck on the end of 
his bayonet. Every time that he hit a foe 
he cried, 1 Beast of a potato-eater, take this 
letter and carry it to your Joey.’” 

“Poor Mollica! If I am able to get back 
there I’ll avenge you.” 

“I told you I wanted you with me. 
You will see what we’ll do to those creat¬ 
ures. I am Captain Teschisso, of the 
Second Regiment of Alpine Troops. What 
fights we have had! How we have ‘ strafed ’ 
them! A shell splinter gave me a whack 
and carried off one of my ears, but if you 

84 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

join me we’ll have dozens of them every 
day.” 

“ Will I go with you? Yes, indeed, if the 
Bersaglierino . . 

“As far as I am concerned, do what 
you’ve a mind to. I shall never return to 
the regiment now. . . . You can’t make war 
without an arm, but ...” 

Just at this moment the door of the little 
white room opened and Major Cutemup, 
followed by two young lieutenants, Fatina, 
and some men nurses, came in. He was 
a short, squatty little man, with smooth 
face and tiny eyes hidden behind gold- 
rimmed glasses, and with a stomach that 
would have made an alderman jealous. 
He looked more like a cab-driver than like 
an officer, and even more like a butcher who 
has risen to be master of a shop by selling 
old beef for veal. 

“Good morning, boys. You are getting 
on finely, eh? When I take hold of you 
you either die or are better off than you 
were before anything happened to you. 
Let’s look at you, Bersaglierino. The arm’s 
doing well . . . the wound in your head 
will be healed in ten days or so. Thank 
God that I saved your eye. It was a risk 

85 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

... we ought to have taken it out if we 
had followed the usual method. . . . No, 
no, I find you in good condition, so good, in 
fact, that I can tell you a piece of news 
. . . they have recommended you for the 
silver medal. I believe his Majesty will 
come in person to pin it on your breast. 
It would be a real honor for our hospital. 

“And you, lad? But really I don’t need 
to bother about you, either. Boys are like 
lizards—you can cut them in pieces and they 
keep on living.” 

“Please, please, Mr. Major Carve-Beef- 
steak, I should like to know who gave you 
permission to cut off my leg.” 

“What? What? You dare . . .” 

“There’s no good lecturing me, because I 
am not in the army, as poor Mollica used 
to say, so you don’t frighten me worth a 
soldo. So I am just asking you who gave 
you permission to . . . carry off my claw.” 

“Your claw? The femur was broken, 
the tibia cracked, the patella shattered, 
your temperature up over a hundred, delir¬ 
ium, threatened with gas gangrene. ... I 
couldn’t wait until you had gone to the 
devil before asking your permission to am¬ 
putate. And, moreover, no more words 

86 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

about it. I cut when it’s my duty to cut. 
If, in spite of the operation, the gangrene 
had continued I should have amputated 
your other leg as well. So let’s look at it. 
Nurse, undo the bandages.” 

In a minute the bloody flesh was uncov¬ 
ered. Pinocchio bit his lips in order to 
keep from yelling with pain. Cutemup 
approached in a solemn manner, and, near¬ 
sighted as he was, had almost to stick his 
nose into the wound to make his examina¬ 
tion. 

“Fine. . . . The healing process has al¬ 
ready begun . . . the granulation is splen¬ 
did, but have you any pain in the groin, 
boy?” 

“How in the world do you expect me to 
know what that is?” 

“Does it hurt you here?” 

“No.” 

“Have you any pain in the sound leg?” 

“No.” 

“Can you move it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Bend it at the knee.” 

“I am doing it.” 

“Again, again, again. Does it pain you?” 

“No.” 


87 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Fine! . . . Now stretch it out.” 

He should never have said that. Pinoc¬ 
chio stretched it out with such agility that 
there was no difference from the way he 
usually administered his solemnest kicks. 
His foot caught Cutemup right in the stom¬ 
ach and knocked him breathless into the 
arms of the young lieutenant, who had 
to resort to artificial respiration to revive 
him. 

The Alpine soldier broke out into such 
an astonishing laugh from beneath his ban¬ 
dages and his beard that the others, Fa- 
tina included, had to echo him. Pinocchio 
played ’possum, perfectly still with his eyes 
half closed. When Cutemup, quite recov¬ 
ered, sprang toward him to give vent to his 
just vengeance, he seemed much surprised 
to see him in such a state. He examined 
him attentively, and, keeping himself a re¬ 
spectful distance away, poked with his fore¬ 
finger two or three times the leg which had 
given him such marvelous proof of vitality 
and energy, then, turning to his colleagues, 
he began to speak in an imposing manner: 

“The accident which befell me was the 
result of the nervous depression of the pa¬ 
tient. The reflex motions have superiority 

88 


HIS FOOT CAUGHT CUTEMUP RIGHT IN THE STOMACH AND KNOCKED HIM BREATHLESS 































The Heart of Pinocchio 

over the will centers. The muscles slacken 
at the lightest pressure, like a cord of a 
strung bow. The vitality shown by the pa¬ 
tient is due to a nervous over-excitation, 
not noticeable until now. I shall keep the 
patient under observation. If you come 
across similar cases, take notes of them that 
I may include them in my article. I shall 
order extra nutrition and care in building 
up the patient as soon as the wound has 
healed completely. Sister Fatina, note for 
the boy special rations of filet of beefsteak, 
roast chicken, eggs, custards well-sweetened, 
at dinner and again at supper.” 

At this bill of fare Pinocchio’s leg by 
some strange phenomenon began to bend 
again from the knee. 

The major, thoroughly absorbed in his 
lesson, did not notice it: “So, then, that is 
understood. You, Captain Teschisso, are 
doing splendidly; in a few days we’ll take 
the bandage off you. Gentlemen, let us go 
into the next room.” 

They had scarcely gone out and the door 
was scarcely closed before Pinocchio burst 
out into such a hearty laugh that the cap¬ 
tain and Bersaglierino had to laugh, too. 

“You don’t seem too much depressed.” 

89 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

“What were you doing with that leg in 
the air?” 

“ Do you know, Captain, as my first kick 
had gained special nourishment for me, I 
wanted to give him another one so that I 



could get a double quantity; then there 
would have been something for all of you.” 

“Thank you, you shaved poodle.” 

Just then Fatina returned and was sur¬ 
prised to see Pinocchio laughing so hard 
that his tongue was hanging out with hap¬ 
piness. 

“What’s this?” 

11 Fatina, my compliments. Did you hear 
what the major ordered? Filet of beef¬ 
steak, chickens, custards with heaps of 

sugar, at dinner and again at supper.” 

90 







The Heart of Pinocchio 

“You wretch!” 

‘ ‘ I am not a wretch; I am a poor, weak 
invalid and no one had better feel the mus¬ 
cles in my legs too much who doesn’t want 
to get kicks in the stomach.” 

“You little beast! Suppose I go and tell 
the major that . . .” 

“No, for Heaven’s sake! Dear Fatina, 
keep quiet.” 

“On one condition.” 

“Let’s hear it.” 

“That you will be good, that you will 
be patient and let yourself be taken care 
of until it is time to fit your wooden leg.” 

“I promise you. You know, once I was 
made of wood all over. In order to get 
ahead I can even make up my mind to 
take a step backward.” 


i 


CHAPTER VI 


Wherein We See Pinocchio's Heart 
JL three of them were now up again. 



jT\ It was to be for them a day of great 
gladness. Yet all three were in a bad humor. 
They didn’t even talk. Captain Teschisso, 
dressed in a brand-new uniform, couldn’t 
tear himself away from the mirror, which he 
addressed in a low voice: 

4 ‘Just see what they have made of me. 
I can’t go on this way. ... I am not pre¬ 
sentable. Without an ear, with a slash on 
the cheek, half my beard gone ... I look 
like a wild animal to be shown at a circus. 
Lord! How many kicks I’d like to give 
those dogs! They’ve botched me so I’m no 
longer fit for this world. . . . It’s against 
the regulations, but before I die I want to 
devour heaps of those curs! Who allows 
them to make war like this? Who permits 
them to reduce a captain of Alpine troops 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

to such a sight? It would be better for me 
to die at once. I’m not good for anything, 
and that dog of a Cutemup might have 
made a better job of me. Let him show 
himself and I’ll give him a piece of my 
mind.’ , 

Poor Teschisso! He was right! His ugly 
scar did disfigure him. Another man would 
have wept at seeing himself thus; he trem¬ 
bled with eagerness to be revenged. 

Pinocchio, too, was grumbling like a stew- 
pot, giving vent to his ill humor. They 
had put on him a wooden leg that was a 
real triumph of mechanism. It was jointed 
like a real one and moved with an automatic 
motion in harmony with his sound leg. 
Pinocchio had tried to run, to jump, and to 
balance, and had to convince himself that 
he had not lost anything by the exchange. 
But the leg had one fault—when he ex¬ 
tended it it unbent too rapidly, hitting the 
heel on the ground with a noisy and annoy¬ 
ing sound. And in addition to this the 
mechanism, which was still so new, rattled. 

“Plague take it! My own didn’t need 
to be oiled. Who knows how much oil this 
one will expect me to give it? But that 
I’ll make Mr. Cutemup pay for. If he 

93 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

comes up to me and repeats that I am better 
than I used to be I’ll plant another kick in 
his stomach, then I’ll ask how he would 

manage to walk 
if it were his, on 
the tip of his 
toes, with this 
heel that beats 
like a drum¬ 
stick.” 

The Bersa- 
glierino, too, 
had a wooden 
left arm. You 
wouldn’t even 
have noticed it. 
He could move 
it in any direc¬ 
tion, and the 
gloved arti¬ 
ficial hand 
which came out 
of the sleeve of his gray jacket, although 
a little stiff, could be moved as easily as a 
real hand. The wound that furrowed his 
forehead didn’t disfigure him; indeed, it 
gave to his gentle features a certain air of 
nobility and fierceness. But the Bersaglier- 

94 







The Heart of Pinocchio 

ino was sad, so sad that if you had looked 
into his eyes you would have been certain 
that he had to make a great effort not to 
cry. Pinocchio noticed it. 

“Tell me, Bersaglierino, what was your 
business before the war?” 

“What’s that to you?” 

“Oh, I just want to know.” 

“I was a journalist, a writer.” 

“Hm! Must be a horrid profession.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you have to work so hard not 
to die of hunger.” 

“Who told you so?” 

“Nobody. But if you had made a lot of 
money in your job you wouldn’t have left 
it to volunteer, and as you get only four¬ 
teen cents a day as a volunteer at the front, 
as a civilian you must have been hard up all 
the year. Then . . . you needn’t make a 
face . . . you don’t write with the left 
hand ... so you can go back to being 
a journalist, even with . . . the Austrian 
improvement.” 

He hoped to drive away his sadness by 
saying it in this way, but instead he only 
increased it. 

“Leave me in peace, puppet!” he said, 

95 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

roughly and with such a stem tone that Pi¬ 
nocchio in his turn longed to cry. 

At this moment the door of the room was 
opened with great violence and Major Cut- 
emup, as if hurled by a catapult, made his 
appearance, followed by Fatina and by a 
regiment of soldiers and nurses. He was 
red as the comb of a cock at his first crow, 
wheezed every now and then like a pair of 
bellows, and dripped sweat as a bucket just 
out of the well drips water. 

“ Sister Fatina, I rely on you ... I rely 
on you to see that everything is in order. 
Four soldiers will wash the windows . . . 
six will scrub the floors, which must shine 
like a mirror, and everything must be done 
in ten minutes. And you, boys, put on 
your special uniforms. ... I have great 
news for you. His Majesty has announced 
his visit to the hospital; with his own august 
hands he will bestow the decorations. You, 
Bersaglierino, who are among these fortu¬ 
nate ones, take care to be irreproachable in 
your appearance. You, Captain ...” 

“What! What did he say? Do you 
think I can let his Majesty see me in this 
frightful condition? Half a beard, half a 
mustache, minus an ear, half a face . . .” 

96 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“But ... I don’t know what you can 
do about it. Fix it up the best you can.” 

“Certainly I’ll fix it up, I’ll . . . Good 
Heavens! man, let me go to a barber who 
can make me look like a Christian, because 
you, Major Cutemup, have made me re¬ 
semble one of Menelik’s crew.” 

“But . . .” 

“But I swear that I won’t let the dogs 
who got me in this condition stick their 
fingers on my face, I tell you.” 

“Teschisso!” 

“No, I won’t let them touch me.” 

“Captain Teschisso, I must remind you 
of the respect due ...” 

“What’s that? Major Cutemup . . . 
did you think I was talking of you? Not a 
thought of doing so. I meant those dogs 
of Austrians.” 

“A-a-a-h! Then be off to the barber’s.” 

“Thanks. I’ll have him fix me up in a 
minute.” 

“Boy, hurry up. His Majesty is coming.” 

Ten minutes later everything was shining 
like a mirror. The soldiers were already at 
work in the adjoining room. Pinocchio had 
disappeared. Teschisso had gone to be 

97 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

shaved. Fatina was arranging the white 
window-curtains. The Bersaglierino was 
seated on his bed, his right arm resting on 
his knee and his chin held in the hollow of 
his hand. 

“ What’s the matter? What is it, Bersa¬ 
glierino ?” 

He didn’t answer, and Fatina, after hav¬ 
ing looked at him a minute with her large, 
soft eyes, came up nearer and sat down be¬ 
side him on the little white bed. 

“Tell me what’s the trouble, Bersaglier¬ 
ino. Why are you crying? Why don’t 
you make yourself handsome? Didn’t you 
hear? The King is coming to give you the 
medal.” 

“Why should I care about that? What 
do you think that means to me, Fatina?” 

And then, since she seemed much aston¬ 
ished at his words, he continued, vehe¬ 
mently : 

“Why, indeed, should I care about that? 
. . . After they have sent me away from 
here I shall go back to living alone like a 
dog ... to fighting every day for my exist¬ 
ence. Who will get any satisfaction from 
the reward the King’s hand has bestowed 

on me? No one. Perhaps the day will 

98 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

come when I shall have to pin the medal 
on my coat to keep the boys in the streets 
from making fun of me, the poor maimed 
creature who will wander about playing a 
street-organ.” 

/‘Oh, Bersaglierino! I never imagined 
you could talk like that. I don’t want you 
to talk so.’\ 

And she spoke with so much feeling that 
he, fearing he had offended her, started to 
beg her pardon: 

“Fatina . • 

“Tell me, aren’t you glad to have done 
your duty, to have given your blood for 
your country? Didn’t you volunteer? 
Didn’t you go willingly through the barbed 
wire to open a road of victory for your 
country? And now you are almost blam¬ 
ing yourself for the good you have done, for 
fear of the morrow. And you think your¬ 
self destined to end as a laughing-stock of 
horrid little children? Oh, but you are bad! 
Tell me, are you really so sure that you are 
alone in the world, that there is no one who 
will rejoice to see shining on your breast 
the medal your country has bestowed on 
you?” 

“Ah, if it were so, Fatina, if it were true!” 

99 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“ Do you believe that no one has followed 
you in thought through all your dangers 
on the field of honor, that no one suffered, 
knowing you were wounded, or trembled at 
the thought of your bed of pain? Do you 
really believe that there is no one to re¬ 
joice at seeing you take up again your place 
in the world? You are young, full of ardor 
and intelligence . . 

“But I am poor, so poor!” 

“You can get rich by working. You 
fought the war with weapons; continue it 
with the pen. Write what you have seen; 
you will make a name for yourself and 
some day will be the pride of your family.” 

“I! Don’t make fun of me, Fatina. I, 
wounded, maimed, will never find a woman 
to link her life with mine.” 

“ Bersaglierino, I, too, am alone in the 
world, free to dispose of myself. I am not 
rich, but I have enough to live on; I am 
not a professor, but I am widely educated. 
. . . I will be frank; if to-morrow a brave 
man like you, in the same condition, should 
come and ask me ...” 

“To be his wife?” 

“I should say yes, and I should be proud. 
Do you understand? Proud of him and of 

ioo 


L 

t 

* t 

( C 
f o 

< ' , 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

the medal shining on his breast, which would 
seem like my own. . . .” 

“Oh! Fatina, Fatina!” 

He could say no more. Tears choked 
him. But she looked at him tenderly with 
her kind eyes, and in them, too two large 
tears were shining. 

Pinocchio could not stand any more of 
this. For half an hour he had been hidden 
under the bed, had therefore listened to 
this noble dialogue, and had had to bite his 
lips to keep from crying. But as it was not 
amusing he could not stand it any longer. 
He crawled very quietly from his hiding- 
place, approached Fatina and Bersaglierino 
cautiously and without their seeing him or 
being able to put up any resistance, he 
gathered the two heads in his arms, brought 
them close together, and held them close, 
covering them both with kisses. 

Pinocchio’s generous and lovable impulse 
had found the way to unite these two 
beings whom destiny had brought together. 
The picture they made was interesting and 
touching and would have touched every one 
who knew them, if at this moment Captain 
Teschisso had not entered, quite made over 
by the barber. 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“What . . . what are you doing? Aren’t 
you preparing for the august visit?” 

“Augusta? Who’s she?” 

1 * What? Don’t you know that the King, 
the commander-in-chief of our army, the 
first soldier of New Italy, the head of the 
state, the corporal of the Zouaves, like his 
grandfather before him, the flower of gen¬ 
tlemen, a good father of his family, one of 
the wisest sovereigns of Europe . . . ? In 
short, you’ll see him soon. Hurry up, be¬ 
cause when I came in the royal automobile 
had been sighted. . . . Don’t you think 
that dog of a barber fixed me up fine? 
Anyway, he was able to get rid of the half 
of my beard which the Germans shaved with 
a shell.” 

The King? This short word frightened 
Pinocchio terribly. This man who com¬ 
manded everybody, who could put every¬ 
body in prison, who was named Majesty, 
August, and Victor Emanuel all at the same 
time, who caused the rooms to be polished 
in five minutes, who set Cutemup to trem¬ 
bling, who kept all the wounded in the hos¬ 
pital in order, all of them men of valor who 
had held their own against hundreds of the 

foe—frightened him like a hobgoblin or 

102 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

something similar. At the very thought 
of having his glance fall upon him he felt 
goose-flesh all over his body. 

“It isn’t fear; it is lack of courage or 
something of that sort, but I must get out of 
the way. I have never had anything to do 
with kings and I don’t know much about 
the way they think. If Augusta, or his 
Majesty, is in a bad humor and should find 
my presence among the soldiers out of 
order, he can bat his eye at Cutemup, make 
him a sign, and . . . whack! . . . my head 
would roll on the ground. Wouldn’t that 
murderer of a surgeon be glad to be re¬ 
venged for the kick I gave him in the stom¬ 
ach? Yes, I must find some way ...” 

His musings were interrupted by three 
bugle notes which brought every one to 
attention. 

“There he is! There he is!” 

Then resounded enthusiastic hurrahs for 
the King. 

Pinocchio disappeared under Bersaglier- 
ino’s bed . . . popped up again, disguised 
himself, and no one noticed that . . . 

Captain Teschisso and the Bersaglierino 
stood at attention at the foot of their beds, 
straight and immovable, awaiting the royal 
9 103 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

visit. The King in his soldier way entered 
without ceremony, followed by his aide-de- 
camp, General Win-the-War, Major Cut- 
emup, and a number of other officers of the 
garrison, Red Cross nurses, and other 
wounded who had come from their rooms 
to take part in the ceremony. It didn’t 
seem possible that the room could hold so 
many persons, but all of them crowded in, 
squeezing together in order to see the King 
and to be near to him. And his face, which 
was wrinkled, was illuminated by a kindly 
smile that spread out from his thick mus¬ 
tache grown prematurely white. He gave 
Teschisso a military salute, then shook his 
hand vigorously and said: 

“I am so pleased to see you recovered. 
I am sure that when you go back to your 
regiment I shall hear more of you. You 
Alpine troopers are all of you wonderful 
soldiers.” 

“For Italy and for our King, your Maj¬ 
esty.” 

“For our Italy greater than ever.” 

“She shall be, if we have to shed all our 
blood.” 

“Such is my belief.” 

Major Cutemup had suddenly turned 

104 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

crimson with rage, and approached Fatina, 
his large, angry eyes scowling at her from 
behind his eyeglasses. 

“Why have you treated me so?” he asked, 
in a low, furious voice. 

“I?” 

“Yes. I told you to put everything in 
order.” 

“Well?” 

“Look at that mess!” and he nodded tow¬ 
ard a kind of clothes-hanger near the head 
of Bersaglierino’s bed, on which were hung 
a hat with cock plumes, a coat, with a pair 
of trousers all torn and ragged and dirty. 
It was the uniform the brave young soldier 
had worn on the field and which Fatina 
had hidden under the bed a little while ago. 

Fatina didn’t know what to say. The 
sudden appearance of this clothes-hanger, 
. . . those clothes spread out, affected her 
so that she had no thought of the major or 
of his rage, which escaped in such violent 
outbursts that they would have started a 
windmill going. 

The King had approached Bersaglierino, 
and General Win-the-War presented him, 
with these words: 

“Your Majesty, this brave soldier has 

I0 5 ' 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

been proposed for the medal of valor for 
the following reasons: enrolled as a volun¬ 
teer, he took part in the first battles with 
the enemy, giving an example of courage 
and discipline; he volunteered to blow up 
the enemy wire defenses; he carried out 
the assignment given him, and, unhurt him¬ 
self, he tried to free a comrade caught on 
the barbed wire and managed to put to 
flight an enemy patrol which attacked him. 
Then he was hit several times by machine- 
gun fire. Carried to the first-aid station, he 
showed the greatest self-control and cheered 
for his King and his country when he learned 
that his efforts had enabled his company to 
take an important trench from the enemy.” 

The King took from the hand of his adju¬ 
tant a silver medal hung from a light-blue 
ribbon and pinned it on Bersaglierino’s 
breast, who was so pale with emotion that 
he looked as if he would faint, then clasped 
the soldier’s right hand in both of his and 
said* 

“Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! You have done 
your duty as an Italian soldier. Treas¬ 
ure this medal which your country gives 
you by the hand of your King. Wear it 

always proudly on your breast. Every one 

106 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

should know that you deserve it and that 
they should follow your example. . . . 
You are crying? But it is with happiness, 
is it not?” 

“Yes, your Majesty.” 

“And now that you have recovered, 
what will you do?” 

“I shall go back to my profession. I am 
a journalist.” 

“And . . . will you be able?” 

“I hope so. I was very severely 
wounded, but . . .” 

“You cured him, Major Cutemup?” 

“I myself, your Majesty; he was one of 
the worst cases. The left arm carried away 
by a shell splinter, wounded on the temple, 
and threatened with damage to his eye, 
wounded in his third upper rib and another 
wound in the groin with lesion in the in¬ 
testines. An abdominal operation was per¬ 
formed, his arm was amputated and there 
was a suture in the occipital region. . . . 
The poor fellow has certainly had his share.” 

“You can see that by looking at his glo¬ 
rious uniform; it is indeed a document.” 

The uniform in question trembled and 
the plumed hat shook. 

“Yes . . . truly . . . but . . .” 

107 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“ Would you deny it?” 

“No, your Majesty, I wanted to say that 
that uniform shouldn’t be there just now. 
It is a glorious object, but in a hospital 
ward it may have infectious germs. . . . 
I had given orders to . . . but . . . and if 
your Majesty will permit, I will give orders 
to remove it at once.” 

He had scarcely finished speaking when 
the coat, trousers, and hat suddenly fell to 
the ground with such a curious noise that 
Cutemup could not help running up to see 
what had happened. Imagine how he 
looked when he found himself face to face 
with Pinocchio, cold with terror. He tried 
to hide him with the glorious garments in 
order to carry him off, bundled up in them, 
but the King turned and asked: 

“ What’s happened?” 

“Your Majesty, I don’t know how to ex¬ 
plain it. . . . Under these clothes was hid¬ 
den a wretch who ...” 

“Ah! I saw. I know him. Pinocchio 
is one of my old and dear acquaintances. 
I am glad to see him among my soldiers, 
in semi-military garb. Leave to Bersaglier- 
ino this uniform that is dear to him. It 

will be a glorious souvenir for his family. 

108 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

Good-by, brave soldier; remember your 
King. I called to you in the hour of need; 
if to-morrow you have need of me, remember 
that I shall never forget those who have 
served me on the battle-field.” 

And the good King, the loving father, the 
model soldier, turned to leave, followed by 
his suite. 

Before he had crossed the threshold Pi¬ 
nocchio had sprung to his feet, flung him 
two kisses with the tips of his fingers, and 
began to dance like mad with happiness. 
His wooden leg made a horrible noise. Fa- 
tina, fearing Cutemup’s anger, begged him 
to behave. 

“ What? What? If Cutemup scolds me, 
woe to him. Did you hear? The King is 
an old acquaintance of mine. If he gets 
offended with me, I’ll take out my paper 
and pen and inkstand and I will write: 
‘Dear King, you are the best and kindest 
man in the world, but do me the favor to 
cut off the head, or some other organ, from 
the major who amputated my leg without 
permission. In this world an eye for an eye, 
a head for a leg. Many kisses from your 
Pinocchio.’ ” 


CHAPTER VII 

How Pinocchio Came Face to Face with Our 

Alpine Troops 

I F you had come across him unexpect¬ 
edly in his new costume I assure you 
you would not have recognized him. On 
his head was a woolen helmet from which 
emerged only his eyes and the point of his 
nose; on his back was a short coat of goat¬ 
skin which swelled him out like a German 
stuffed with beer and sausage; his legs 
were lost in a pair of big boots with lots 
of nails. Around his waist was a huge belt 
of leather from which hung a number of 
small rope ends, and in his hand he carried a 
splendid stick with an iron point. Captain 
Teschisso was a gentleman and wanted his 
new orderly to be magnificently equipped. 
That odd creature of a mountaineer amused 
himself thoroughly with the rascal Pinoc¬ 
chio. It didn’t seem real to see him strug- 

no 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

gling to conquer the mountain peaks and 
ready to fight those dogs of Austrians who 
were up there and with whom he had so 
many accounts to set¬ 
tle. They had arrived 
one morning at Fort 

- (censor). Tes- 

chisso had been 
greeted like one raised 
from the dead. Fi¬ 
nally the soldiers had 
thrown their arms 
about his neck and 
kissed and hugged him. 

They all seemed like 
one family, and for a 
fact they did all re¬ 
semble one another a 
little: tall, with extra¬ 
ordinary beards, with 
muscular legs straight as a column and hands 
that seemed made to give vigorous blows. 

4 ‘Where is my company?” 

“On-[oh, that censor!], at nine thou¬ 

sand feet altitude.” 

“All well?” 

“•Most all.” 

“And the Boches, where are they?” 

hi 






The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Bah! We’ve got them on the run. 

“Send my things up to me with the first 
supply division; I’m off now at once.” 

“Nine feet of snow and a biting wind.” 

“Heavens! If I were sure of finding that 
dog who cut my beard I would go to hell 
itself.” 

“I am thinking less of you than of your 
little orderly.” 

“Ha! That youngster has a wooden leg 
and is as hardy as a goat.” 

Pinocchio, to show off, whirled his leg 
around and with a shy glance convinced 
himself that in a wink of the eye he had 
won the respect of the little garrison. 

“Listen, Captain, if you give me some¬ 
thing to eat I’ll go ahead; if you don’t, 
here’s where I stay.” 

“Indeed!” 

“How indeed! Did you understand that 
I am hungry?” 

“And I have nothing more to give you 
to eat.” 

“And I stop here.” 

“You’ll get caught in a blizzard and 
buried in snow and will be frozen hard like 
Neapolitan ice-cream.” 

112 


The Heart oj Pinocchio 

“But . . . I’m hungry.” 

“You have eaten two rations of bread, 
a box of conserved beef, nearly half a pound 
of chocolate ...” 

“Is it my fault if the air of these moun¬ 
tains makes me as hungry as a wolf? You 
should have told me before we left. Now 
I know why you are always saying that you 
would like to eat so many Austrians. But 
if you think I can get used to the same 
diet you are much mistaken.” 

“Are you coming or aren’t you?” 

“Is it much farther?” 

“Do you see that cloud up there?” 

“I defy any one not to see it.” 

“When that is passed there is a crack in 
the mountain called Spaccata; we must 
cross that and we are there—at least if they 
haven’t gone on ahead.” 

“In the clouds? Really in the clouds?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Listen, Captain, do I really seem to you 
as much of a fool as that?” 

“Just now, yes.” 

“Thanks, but you can go in the clouds 
by yourself; I’ll turn back and bid you 
farewell.” 

He tried to make one of his usual pirou- 

113 



The Heart of Pinocchio 


ettes to turn around, but the snow slipped 
under his feet and he fell, sitting down, and, 
sliding on the white surface, was precipi¬ 



tated down the slope of the mountain with 
terrifying speed. 

“Help! Help!” 

“Stick your staff in! Stick your staff 
in!” yelled Teschisso, who already believed 
him lost. 

114 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

He had need to yell. Pinocchio was fly¬ 
ing along like a little steamer under forced 
draught and couldn’t hear anything, I assure 
you. Suddenly he stopped as if he were 
nailed to the snow. That was to be ex¬ 
pected, you say, with that air of superior 
beings you assume every now and then. 
I know—but I can tell you Pinocchio didn’t 
expect it, nor even Teschisso, who was leap¬ 
ing down to help his little friend. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“No.” 

“ Do you feel ill?” 

“No, not exactly ill, but I suffered ter¬ 
ribly from—lack of courage.” 

“Why don’t you get up?” 

“I’m afraid of sliding off again.” 

“Let me help you.” 

Captain Teschisso took hold of the rope 
Pinocchio had tied around his waist and 
pulled one end of it through his leather belt, 
fastened the other end round his body, and, 
after planting his feet firmly, said: “Take 
hold of the rope and pull yourself up. You 
are quite safe; the mountain will crumble 
before I fall.” 

Pinocchio did his best to get on his feet, 
but couldn’t succeed. His hinder parts ad- 

US 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

hered to the crust of the snow as if some 
magician had glued them firmly. Tes- 
chisso, who had little patience and thought 
that Pinocchio was feigning in order not to 
have to climb the mountain, gave such a 
vigorous pull on the rope tied to the boy’s 
belt that he jerked him up, swung him 
through the air for several feet, and flung 
him face downward on a heap of snow as 
downy as a feather-bed. A piece of gray 
cloth left behind showed the spot where Pi¬ 
nocchio had been miraculously halted in his 
precipitous descent. Teschisso glanced at 
it and couldn’t keep back one of his loud, 
honest mountain laughs. Pinocchio, be¬ 
lieving he was being swung around for fun, 
sprang to his feet, so furious that the cap¬ 
tain’s hilarity grew even stronger and 
louder. 

“ Heavens! And you can thank Heaven 
that you are still in the land of the living. 
Look there and feel the back of your 
trousers. Hah, hah, hah! Don’t you un¬ 
derstand yet what has happened to you? 
You were caught in a wolf-trap which the 
Austrians put there to catch some of us, 
and instead you were the one, which isn’t 

the same thing at all.” 

xi6 

















/ 


' 










The Heart of Pinocchio 

Notwithstanding the laughter of the cap¬ 
tain, Pinocchio’s anger evaporated in a sec¬ 
ond. His eyes were fixed on the scraps of 
his trousers that still hung on the teeth 
of the trap and his hands were rubbing the 
frozen surface left uncovered. He longed 
to cry, and felt so ridiculous that he was 
almost on the point of flinging himself again 
down the snowy slope. 

“Come on, come on! There’s no time to 
lose. There is a long road to go and the 
clouds are hanging lower. There’s no sense 
in your staying there like a macaw, weep¬ 
ing for the seat of your breeches. When 
we arrive up there I’ll have the company’s 
tailor mend them for you. You’ve got to 
march, and no more nonsense. Forward, 
march!” 

“Captain, it’s impossible.” 

“Heavens alive! How impossible?” 

“I am not presentable.” 

“Why?” 

“If we find the enemy and the Austrians 
see me with my trousers in such a state, 
they will say that the Italian army ...” 

“Fool! The Italian army never turns 
its rear to the enemy, and you won’t, 
either.” 

ii 7 


10 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“But ...” 

“If you are afraid of taking cold in your 
spine that’s another matter. If that’s the 
case let’s see what can be done.” 

Captain Teschisso turned Pinocchio over, 
took a copy of a newspaper out of his 
pocket, folded it over four times, and stuck 
it into the hole of the trousers. And he did 
it so well that the “Latest News” with the 
headlines seemed to be framed in the ragged 
edges of the cloth. 

“There you are. Are you satisfied?” 

To tell the truth, he would have preferred 
to consider a little before answering, but 
the captain didn’t give him the time. He 
started off with a quick stride, pulling the 
rope after him which he had fastened to his 
belt, as if bringing a calf to the butcher. 

I do not know if you, my children, have 
ever been up in the high mountains. You 
must know that after you reach a certain 
altitude, whether because the air becomes 
rarefied or because of the silence that sur¬ 
rounds you, you seem to be living another 
life in another world. Your breath grows 
shorter; it seems as if you could not draw 

a long one, while the lungs are so full of 

118 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

oxygen that the heart beats more rapidly; 
then fatigue is followed by a condition of 
strange torpor. Nevertheless, you continue 
to climb without effort, as if the legs moved 
automatically. If you speak, the voice 
reaches the ears faintly as if it came from a 
distance. Sometimes you have a certain 
discomfort called mountain-sickness, which 
makes the temples throb and brings with it 
such a languor that the traveler is forced 
to give up his ascent. Pinocchio, who for 
some time had been experiencing all these 
sensations peculiar to the high mountains, 
found himself suddenly hidden in a fog so 
thick that he couldn’t see a hand’s-breath 
before his nose. 

Not seeing Teschisso any more, and not 
feeling his numbed legs move, and feeling 
himself dragged upward and upward 
through the darkness as if by some prodig¬ 
ious force, he really imagined himself to 
have entered a new world, and was seized 
by such a terror that he began to scream 
as if his throat were being cut. But, seeing 
that his voice didn’t carry far and that Tes¬ 
chisso was not affected by it, he thought it 
easier to let himself be dragged along and 
to spare his breath for a better cause. 

119 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“I’d like to know where that creature is 
dragging me,” he began to grumble in a low 
voice like a somnambulist in the dark to 
give himself courage. “I’d like to know 
where he is taking me. I am almost be¬ 
ginning to believe that I am really in the 
clouds, but I’d like to know what need there 
is to climb ’way up here to fight when there 
is plenty of room down below. Anyway, I 
don’t believe that we’ll find a single Aus¬ 
trian up here in the clouds; it’s just a fancy 
of the captain, who must be a trifle crazy. 
Once I heard a country priest say that the 
Heavenly Father lives in the clouds to let 
the water down when the peasants need it 
to water their cabbages and turnips, and to 
keep the sun lighted to warm those who 
have no clothes. It looks to me as if He 
had let the Alpine troops take His place 

“Hum! Let’s see how this is going to 
come out. All I care about is to fill my 
stomach when we arrive, because I am hun¬ 
gry and can’t stand it any longer. I’ve 
been eating snow for an hour now, but I 
don’t get any nourishment from that. I 
am beginning to think I was better off 
where I was before. If Bersaglierino hadn’t 

been injured I’d still be with him and his 

120 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

fine regiment. At least down there I could 
hear some noise . . . patapin! patapum 
. . . pum! Here there’s nothing but snow 
and ice, not a living person to be seen. 
I should just like to know with whom we 
can fight. In any case, if the Austrians 
are up there it seems to me it ’ll be hard 
to get close enough to bother them. . . . 
But it’s easy to see that the air up there 
isn’t for me; I can scarcely go on, but if I 
slip I’d have to fall all the way, as I did 
this morning. If I hadn’t been so fright¬ 
ened I should almost have enjoyed it. I 
went along like a trolley-car, and such 
speed! But I left my trousers on the way. 
A nice sight I’ll be when I’m introduced to 
the company with the newspaper on . . . 
the rear front! And, to tell the truth, it 
doesn’t keep me very warm. I feel a little 
cold in my back. I don’t know whether it 
really comes from that, but I feel it, almost 
—if I didn’t feel so well—as if I were going 
to be sick.” 

Teschisso noticed the dead weight on the 
rope he was pulling and absent-mindedly 
quickened his pace, so terrifyingly hori¬ 
zontal. If the boy had fainted it wouldn’t 

be an easy matter to carry him to safety 

121 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

* 

in such weather. Although he knew the 
rocks inch by inch, it was not easy to find 
the way in the whiteness of the snow nor to 
judge how much more of the road there 
still remained to cover, on account of the 
fog which hid the landscape. He was re¬ 
proaching himself for not having listened 
to the advice of his comrades at the fort, 
who had advised him to delay his climb, 
when he heard a strange metallic noise 
which grew stronger each moment. 

“No so bad. Here we are!” 

He took a few steps more, then, pulling 
from his pocket a horn whistle, he blew 
several short, shrill blasts. He was an¬ 
swered by a dozen voices, one deep one 
calling: 

“ Who goes there?” 

“ Friends.” 

“Pasquale.” 

“Pinerolo.” 

“Pm well. Who are you?” 

“Captain Teschisso.” 

“Bah! Don’t believe it.” 

“Here, you dog! I tell you it is I.” 

“Captain Teschisso is killed. Too bad. 
I saw him fall down in the valley.” 

“Oh, did you, Sergeant Minestron?” 

122 





The Heart of Pinocchio 

‘Til be dogged if it isn’t he; it really is 
he!” 

From the fog emerged several Alpine fig¬ 
ures; they came nearer, growing more dis¬ 
tinct, and then there was a yell of delight. 

“It is he in flesh and blood. Hurrah!” 

“Hurrah for our captain!” 

“Thank God that he is really alive.” 

“ Lieutenant, Lieutenant, come here . . . 
a surprise!” 

“Captain, how many surprises?” 

“Let me get my breath; you are suffo¬ 
cating me with your hugs. Where are 
they?” 

“The Austrians?” 

“Heavens! Whom do you suppose I’m 
talking about? I came up here for the 
express purpose of getting even with them!” 

“They area long distance away, Captain. 
We must transport our artillery up to 
Mount X [censor]; there we’ll go for them.” 

“And have you got the filovia [aerial 
railway] in working order for that purpose?” 

“Yes, indeed! They have been working 
on it for three days.” 

“And the company?” 

“They are intrenched in the hut on 

Mount X with the battalion.” 

123 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“It will take four good hours to get 
there.” 

“Even more, Captain.” 

“And how will I manage to tow along 
this lump of a Pinocchio who is half dead 
with mountain-sickness?” 

“Pinocchio?” 

“Where is he?” 

“Pull the rope and take him off my back; 
he has tired me out.” 

Pinocchio, who was in a state of great 
weakness and curiously sleepy, felt himself 
lifted up and whirled around to the out¬ 
burst of loud laughter. It seemed to him 
that something slipped down his throat 
which burned and made him cough and 
sneeze . . . then he thought he was 
stretched out on a bed that was rather hard, 
but covered with warm and heavy cover¬ 
ings; then ... he experienced a strange 
feeling of comfort disturbed only by a long, 
monotonous, persistent humming. 

If he had been able to notice what was 
happening to him he would either have died 
of fright or he would have believed himself 
in the very hands of God. Fastened to the 
gun-carriage of a six-inch cannon, suspended 

in the car of a filovia, he was traveling over 

124 


The Heart of Pinoccliio 

the abyss which separates two of our giant 
Alps. Below him was a sea of clouds, above 
the beautiful blue sky, all about him the 
gleam of white snow, and on the snow 
here and there a group of little gray 
points, like grains of sand lost in all this 
immensity. Those were our Alpine troops, 
the dear big boys who were laughing at 
the joke played on Pinocchio, and defying 
serenely all the obstacles that nature op¬ 
posed to their victorious advance on Italian 
soil which Austria’s power had for so many 
years disputed with us. 

When Pinocchio regained his senses he 
found himself lying on the ground wrapped 
up in coverlets and warm as a bun just out 
of the oven. Above his head dangled hor¬ 
izontally the huge basket from which he 
had been flung by the shock of its sudden 
halt, and which swung on the steel cables 
of the filovia as if it were weary of being 
up there and eager to set about its job. 
All about was the gleam of the snow, even 
though the light was growing paler every 
moment. I bet you a soldo against a 
lira what hour it was. But Pinocchio 
guessed it from the odor of cooking which 

125 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

sweetened the air all about, an odor which 
would have brought a dead dyspeptic to 
life. He sniffed the air like a bloodhound, 
rolled his eyes in every direction, in all 
corners, to discover the spot whence came 
the delicious fragrance, but couldn’t see 
anything but snow, nothing, not even a 
curl of distant smoke. He was so hungry 
that he thought he would faint. 

“I am dreaming with eyes open. How 
is it possible that there should be in this 
desert pastry covered with caramel sauce? 
Because I know I am not mistaken . . . 
the odor I smell is just that. If I had 
only a piece of bread, by means of my 
nose and by means of my mouth I could 
fool myself into believing that I was 
dining magnificently, but . . .” 

But the odor affected him so strongly that 
he had to get up to limber up his muscles. 
He had scarcely got to his feet when a 
strange thing happened—from the very spot 
where he had been lying a puff of smoke 
rose gently upward, and this smoke had 
precisely the odor of pastry covered with 
caramel sauce. 

Pinocchio crossed his hands over his 

empty stomach and stood for a moment 

126 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

pondering. Never in all his life had he 
had presented to him so difficult a problem 
as this to solve. He thought and thought, 
and, like Galileo, had recourse to the ex¬ 
perimental method. He knelt down in the 



snow and began to scrape it away with his 
hands on the spot where his body, covered 
by the latest issue of the newspaper, had 
left an impression. The smell of caramel 
sauce kept growing more fragrant, and Pi- 
nocchio’s tongue licked the end of his nose 
so solemnly that he would have made the 
inventor of handkerchiefs blush with shame. 
Suddenly a deep opening appeared under 
the snow. Pinocchio stuck his arms in up 
to the elbows and uttered a shriek of terror. 
His hands and wrists were held as in a fiery 
vise and his arms were pulled so violently 
that he was jerked face down on the earth 

and his nose stuck into the snow. 

127 





The Heart of Pinocchio 

If he had not been in such an uncom¬ 
fortable position and had been able to look 
over his shoulder he would have seen four 
devils of Alpine troopers advancing very 
quietly, guns pointed and bayonets fixed. 
It could be only a starved Austrian who 
would attempt to enter through the dug- 
out’s little window cut through the snow 
into the officers’ mess, and they intended 
giving him a fine welcome. A corporal with 
a reddish beard which hung down to his 
stomach stood two paces away, ready to 
give him a bayonet thrust that would have 
run him through like a snipe on a spit, but 
suddenly he focused his eyes on a certain 
point, advanced on his hands and knees, 
and began to read the “ Latest News” 
which he had caught sight of in the seat 
of Pinocchio’s trousers. 

The Alpine troops are the bravest sol¬ 
diers in the world; if any one doubts this 
let him ask the hunters of that foolish gal¬ 
lows-bird of an emperor; but they are not 
all well educated, and for this reason Cor¬ 
poral Scotimondo, as soon as he had spelled 
out the interesting headline, signaled to his 
comrades to advance cautiously. 

You can’t have the faintest idea of how 

128 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

important a newspaper becomes, even if 
it is not a particularly late one, up there 
among those snow-clad peaks where our sol¬ 
diers were fighting for a greater Italy. So 
this editorial, w T hich contained the news of 
the miraculous conquest of the Col di Lana, 
deserved to be preserved in the archives 
among the masterpieces of our glory, in¬ 
stead of in the seat of Pinocchio’s trousers. 

As I have told you, Corporal Scotimondo 
could scarcely spell, but among his three 
comrades Private Draghetta was looked 
upon as a genius, because as a civilian 
he had been a clerk in Cuneo. But Dra¬ 
ghetta, who could see the Austrians a 
mile off and when he saw them never 
failed to knock them over with a shot 
from his gun, was nearsighted as a mole, 
and when he wanted to read had to rub 
his nose into the print. 

When Pinocchio felt Draghetta’s nose 
tickle him he began to kick like a donkey 
stung by a gadfly. 

“Hold him tight; tie him. We’ve taken 
the Col di Lana! The Col di Lana is 
ours!” 

41 Really?” 

"Is it true?” 


129 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Read it, Draghetta . . . don't be afraid 
. . . I’ll hold him for you.” 

Scotimondo sat astride Pinocchio’s back 
and squeezed him with his knees so hard 
that he took his breath away. 

“ ‘Yesterday our brave Alpine troops, sup¬ 
ported by infantry regiments, by means of 
a brilliant attack gained the highest sum¬ 
mit of the Col di Lana, which is now safely 
in our possession.' . . . Hurrah!” 

“Hurrah for Italy!” 

“Hurrah for the King!” 

They were crazy with joy and danced 
about on the snow like fiends, throwing 
their plumed hats up into the air, waving 
their guns above their heads. Suddenly, 
just as if they had risen from the ground, 
a hundred soldiers appeared and surrounded 
them.' 

“What is it?” 

“What has happened?” 

“The Col di Lana is ours!” 

“Hurrah for Italy!” 

“Who told you so?” 

“Where did you hear it?” 

“In the latest news of the Corriere .” 

“Are you certain?” 

“Where did you find it?” 

130 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“If you don’t believe it, ask Draghetta.” 

All this noise, this rushing out of the 
trenches and the soldiers staying in the 
open, was against regulations, so that Lieu¬ 
tenant Sfrizzoli couldn’t let it pass without 
giving vent to one of his usual fits of rage. 
Red as a radish, he rushed toward Dra¬ 
ghetta, shoving apart the group of rejoicing 
Alpine soldiers, and stopped in front of him, 
legs wide apart, and with fists clenched. 

“Is it you, Draghetta, who have set the 
camp in such an uproar?” 

“Not I, sir; it is the Col di Lana.” 

“What? What? What?” 

“We’ve taken it, sir.” 

“Who told you?” 

“I read it myself.” 

“Where?” 

“On ... on . . .” 

“Well?” 

“I don’t want to be lacking in respect, 
sir, to my superior officer, no matter what 
the occasion may be . . .” 

“Stupid! Tell me where you read it.” 

“On the frontispiece of a book without 
words belonging to an Austrian soldier 
who . . .” 

Draghetta didn’t succeed in getting out 

Di 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

i 

another word. Something interposed be¬ 
tween him and the lieutenant with a light¬ 
ning-like rapidity . . . and he felt a ter¬ 
rible kick in the shins which made him roll 
over on the ground with pain. 

“Mr. Lieutenant, it is I . . . the scout 
Pinocchio, under Captain Teschisso’s pro¬ 
tection. I took part in the campaign on 
the Isonzo and left a leg there and in its 
place I now have a wooden leg of perfect 
Italian manufacturing. He told you what 
he thought was so, but I beg to convince 
you of the contrary. But the news about 
the Col di Lana is true, as true as can be. 
Here is the Cornere which was on the frontis¬ 
piece ... of my book without words, in the 
seat of my trousers. But, as I can’t stand 
the cold, I beg you to have a patch put on 
and to have served to me a plate of that 
pastry cooked under the snow, because I 
am so hungry I could eat even you.” 

Shortly after the delighted Pinocchio sat 
in front of a dish piled high with spaghetti, 
and surrounded by soldiers of the company 
who never stopped asking him questions 
about how the war was going down in the 
plains. With his mouth full he kept turn¬ 
ing to this one and that one, uttering inar- 

<32 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

ticulate sounds that might have come from 
a sucking pig. 

The arrival of Captain Teschisso was the 
signal for a furious attack. He had seen in 
the distance a long file of the enemy clad 
in white shirts moving across the snow; he 
had hurried to the dugout to give the alarm 
and, taking command of the company, had 
flung himself on the foe, who, relying too 
much on the secrecy of his attack, was 
beaten and put to flight. 

Pinocchio had assisted in the action at a 
loophole in the trench, armed with the fin¬ 
est of spy-glasses. The Alpine troops had 
performed prodigious deeds of valor. The 
captain came back with two prisoners, one 
a Hungarian and one a Croat, whom he held 
by the collars as if they were two mice sur¬ 
prised while robbing tripe from the larder. 

‘ 1 Heavens! What blows!” he cried, hap¬ 
pily, to the soldiers who surrounded him, 
rejoicing. “But, boys, I won’t let them 
sleep to-night. We must get ready for an 
attack in force. We must make these pigs 
sing!” 

There was no time to pay any attention 
to them. A few moments later a rain of 

i33 


11 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

shells began to fall around the neighbor¬ 
hood of the dugout. The Austrians wanted 
to revenge themselves from a distance for 
their sudden rout. Teschisso ordered four 
mountain guns which had just arrived by 
the filovia to be mounted on the gun-car¬ 
riages, assembled his men, and ran to take 
up his position in an excavation nearly a 
mile away whence it was possible to ob¬ 
serve the enemy’s position. Pinocchio and 
Ciampanella, the company cook, remained 
behind to guard the dugout, and to them 
had been assigned the care of the two 
prisoners from whom Teschisso hoped later 
to obtain some definite information. 















CHAPTER VIII 


How Pinocchio Made Two Beasts Sing — 
Contrary to Nature 

E XCUSE me, my children, for not hav¬ 
ing presented Ciampanella to you be¬ 
fore. Ciampanella was a pure - blooded 
Roman, born under the shadow of the 
Capitol, like—the wolf kept at the cost 
of the City Commune. If Francis Joseph 
had seen him he would have appointed him 
at once as royal hangman because he had 
a gallows countenance and a body like a 
gigantic negro. Yet he was the best-hearted 
man in the world, so good that he wouldn’t 
harm a fly. 

This evening he was in such a good 
humor that he made even Pinocchio laugh, 
whom the charge of the prisoners had made 
as serious as a judge. 

“ Listen, youngster, don’t bother your¬ 
self with these two scoundrels whose throats 

i35 


/ 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

I’ll cut some day with my kitchen knife as 
if they were pigs, and so you will be freed 
from the care of them, and I win back the 
honor which I lose in feeding the enemies 
of my country.” 

“ Are you crazy?” 

“Why?” 

“Didn’t you hear what my captain said? 
We must make them sing.” 

“Them sing? It’s easier to make the 
statue of Marcus Aurelius sing that’s of 
bronze and won’t move from the Capitol 
for fear the Councilors of the Commune 
might take it to a pawnbroker’s.” 

“But I’ve found out already what their 
names are.” 

“I, too.” 

“Let’s hear.” 

“Pigs.” 

“That is their family name, but the real 
name of the Croat is Stolz and the Hun¬ 
garian’s is Franz.” 

“And then?” 

“We’ve got to find out how many of 
them are down there in the trenches; if 
there are others behind them; how many 
pieces of artillery they have and where; 

from what point their munitions and sup- 

136 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

plies come, and how many officers are in 
command of the troops.” 

“ That's the easiest thing possible.” 

4 ‘You think so?” 

“You ask them and they will answer.” 

“And if they pretend not to hear?” 

“Leave it to me, youngster. I have a 
special way of making myself understood, 
even by the deaf. I didn’t read for noth¬ 
ing The Spanish Inquisition . Bring to me 
here those two satellites of Franz Joe and 
you’ll hear the speeches I’ll make them.” 

Ciampanella rubbed his ears, tied an 
apron around his waist as when he entered 
upon his official functions, filled up the little 
stove with charcoal and lighted a fine fire. 
When Pinocchio returned to the kitchen, 
followed by the prisoners, a pair of tongs 
and a shovel were heating on the red-hot 
charcoal. 

At the sight of these the Croat and the 
Hungarian exchanged glances and a few 
quick, dry phrases in their language. 

Ciampanella advanced triumphantly to 
within a foot of them, bowed like an actor 
to an applauding audience, and unfolded 
one of his most polished discourses: 

“Gentlemen, our officers say that we 

i37 


The Heart of Pmocchio 

must respect the enemy, and I respect you 
according to command; but in case any one 
should persist in refusing to speak, just like 
the beasts, I should feel it my duty to treat 
him like a beast, and my superiors would 
say to me, 1 Ciampanella, you’re right.’ I 
explain this because we have need of cer¬ 
tain information, so we take the liberty of 
asking you in secret certain things which 
you, gentlemen, can answer, after which we 
will give you special attention in our cul¬ 
inary service. This is said and promised, 
so I begin my questions. We want to 
know how many men and how many officers 
that big simpleton of your emperor has 
whipped up together against us.” 

No answer. 

“What? Are you deaf? Don’t you un¬ 
derstand modern Italian? Then I’ll talk 
ancient Roman to you.” 

Ciampanella grabbed from the stove the 
red-hot shovel and waved it before the 
Austrians’ noses. Their eyes popped out 
with fright, but they didn’t utter a word. 

“You will either answer or I will give 
you two kisses with the shovel on your 
right cheeks and two on your left.” 

“ ’Talian pigs! Brigands!" 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

11 May you be skinned alive! To call me 
a brigand! Me! Pinocchio, which creat¬ 
ure is this, Spitz or Spotz?” 

“Franz.” 

“Listen, Franz, if you dare insult me 
another time, I’ll untie your hands and 
then I’ll give you so many boxes on your 
ear that ’ll make you more of an imbecile 
than your emperor.” 

“You kill us, we die mouths shut.” 

“We, we . . . Wait before you talk in 
the plural; wait till I put this red-hot 
shovel to Stolz’s ear, and then . . .” 

Ciampanella came closer to the Croat, 
armed with his other heated iron, but sud¬ 
denly he felt a blow on his eye which half 
blinded him. 

“. . . they can . . .” 

He couldn’t finish because Pinocchio burst 
out laughing so wildly that he had to hold 
his stomach. Ciampanella, who had been 
taken unaware by the glass of water Pinoc¬ 
chio had thrown at him, let out all his 
anger on him. 

“Youngster, look out for yourself. I 
won’t stand nonsense from you. I owe to 
our enemies the respect enjoined by regu¬ 
lations, but you I can take by the nape 

i39 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

of the neck and set you down on the stove, 
and I’ll roast you as if you were beef.” 

Pinocchio became suddenly serious and 
began to swing his wooden leg so nervously 
that if Major Cutemup had seen him he 
would have turned as yellow as a China¬ 
man with fear. If the descendant of Rom¬ 
ulus and Remus had had the slightest idea 
of the kick which menaced him at this mo¬ 
ment he would have grown calm as if by 
magic. But Pinocchio, who had seen Franz 
and Stolz exchange sly glances and a smile 
full of irony, held himself in and, after 
scratching his head solemnly, approached 
Ciampanella, who was wiping his eye with 
his apron, and taking hold affectionately 
of his arm, said: 

“So you want to roast me on your 
stove?” 

“As I told you.” 

“Wouldn’t it be better to cook some¬ 
thing on it for our supper this evening?” 

“This evening’s supper? But you know 
that this evening I wouldn’t light the fire 
if the commander-in-chief came in person 
to command me to. When the company is 
in action I am free to do what I want, 

and when I am free to do what I want I 

140 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

don’t do anything. So if you are hungry 
you’ll have to eat bread and compressed 
meat, and if you don’t like it you’ll have to 
fast.” 

“Listen, Ciampanella; you reason like 
Menenius Agrippa, who was an ancient 
Roman able to make things clearer than 
modern Romans, but sometimes you get 
tangled up in your premises.” 

“Listen, youngster, don’t insult me, be¬ 
cause as sure as Ciampanella is my name 
I will wring your neck like a chicken’s.” 

“But I’m not insulting you.” 

“Then tell me what kind of things are 
premises; otherwise ...” 

“Otherwise you’ll take me and make me 
sit on the stove and roast me, won’t you? 
That proves that the fire is lighted and that 
the charcoal is burning for nothing, and so 
if, for example, the commander-in-chief 
should pay you a visit he would give you 
a fortnight’s imprisonment for it, because 
when the company’s in action you are 
free to do what you want, but not in the 
kitchen, and if you are hungry you must 
eat bread and compressed meat or fast.” 

“Heh, youngster! I didn’t light the 

stove for culinary purposes, but for strategic 

141 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

reasons. It was to make these two beasts 
talk.” 

“But they haven’t talked.” 

“We’ll fling them out and let the mad 
dogs eat them.” 

“But if you, instead of heating the shovel 
and tongs, had roasted a young pullet and 
served it with one of those famous 
sauces ...” 

“Chicken in the Roman style with potato 
puffs . . .” 

“Just look at Stolz. He’s licking his 
greased whiskers as if the potatoes were 
cooking under his nose.” 

“Look at Franz gaping.” 

“They have a dog’s hunger, and in order 
to make them sing ...” 

“You want me to cook a little supper 
such as I can cook if I set myself to it, stick 
it under their noses, and . . . Youngster, 
that’s a magnificent idea! When I write 
my Manual of War Cookery I’ll put you 
on the frontispiece as the first of kitchen 
strategians. Leave things to me and in 
half an hour I’ll hand you out a couple of 
stews that would raise up the dead better 
even than Garibaldi’s Hymn!” 

Pinocchio heaved a sigh. He had won 

142 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

such a battle that, if he had been a Ger¬ 
man, would have caused the people to 
hammer I don’t know how many nails 
into his statue. While Ciampanella was 
bustling about on all sides, plucking two 
young fowls, peeling potatoes, frying lard 
and onions, melting butter in a saucepan, 
preparing a stew in another, Pinocchio 
was striding up and down the kitchen, long 
and narrow as a corridor, eying stealthily 
the two prisoners, who were beginning to 
show signs of a growing restlessness. They 
had been fasting for more than twenty-four 
hours and their last food had been such a 
mess that it might have been requisitioned 
from the poultry-yard and the stable. 

Ciampanella seemed eager to surpass 
himself. He hovered over his pots with¬ 
out paying any attention to Pinocchio, but 
talking in a loud voice as if he wished to 
impart a lesson in cookery to half the 
world. 

“ Listen, youngster, when you want to 
eat two savory young fowls you must cook 
them in the Roman fashion according to 
Ciampanella’s recipe, which, when it is 
written down, will not have its equal in 
Urhis et Orbis. I call it the Roman fashion, 

H3 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

but it might also truly be called the Ostro- 
gothic fashion . . . but that’s the way. 
Take two young fowls and cut them into 
pieces, put a good-sized lump of butter 
into a saucepan and a little onion and fry 
it a little; dredge the fowls with flour, and 
put them to simmer in the butter; when 
they are browned put in some tomato paste, 
salt and pepper, and let them cook down, 
later a grain of nutmeg, cover it and let it 
cook. . . . Do you smell that odor, young¬ 
ster? And just think how it will taste! 
You’ll lick your napkin like that dirty 
Croat who . . . Ho! ho! look at his 
tongue hanging out. . . . Ho! ho! ho!” 

The air was filled with a fragrance so 
entrancing that it would have given an 
appetite to the mouth of a letter-box; so 
imagine how the miserable two felt, who, 
after all, were men of flesh and blood and 
had no other defect than of having been 
born under the Executioner’s scepter. Stolz 
with his mouth wide open breathed in the 
air in deep breaths, tasting it hungrily as 
if he could really taste the odor that tickled 
his nostrils. Ciampanella stepped in front 
of him, and spouted out one of his special 

speeches, gesticulating with his fork. 

144 


The Heart of Pinoccliio 

“Well, Mr. Croat? How do you think 
we do it? Franz Joe is worse off than the 
least of our Alpine troops, because we are 
not reduced to gnawing bones like you 
who make war in order to fish, as the prov¬ 
erb says, in troubled waters. What a 
delicious odor, isn’t it? But don’t stand 
there with your mouth open or I’ll fill it 
with dish-water. Here’s some!” 

“ ’Talian pig!” howled Stolz, half strangled 
with nausea and disgust, spitting all around. 

“If you call me an Italian pig again, 
I’ll break your head in spite of the respect 
they teach us is due the enemy, because 
in this world it is tit for tat.” 

“Listen, Ciampanella,” Pinocchio in¬ 
terrupted at the right moment, “if the 
chickens are done we could sit down at the 
table and offer a bite to Stolz.” 

“That’s a good idea, youngster.” 

While the boy was setting the table and 
the chef was dishing up the stew, from the 
distance came several tremendous rum¬ 
blings, which brought a smile to the faces 
of the prisoners, who exchanged significant 
glances. The sound came from our six-inch 
guns that had been dragged with such effort 
to the altitude of nine thousand feet and 

i45 . 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

arrived the day before by way of the filovia, 
which were now opening fire on the enemy’s 
trenches. If Franz and Stolz had had even 
the faintest suspicion of this they would 

have changed their 
expressions. 






"Dear Ciam- 
, panella, as a cook 
ry you should be put 



r 


i 


on the pedestal of 
a monument. This 
chicken is a masterpiece. 
If that imbecile of a 
Stolz, instead of stand¬ 
ing there like a dog with 
his tongue hanging out, 
a foot away from the tail 
of a hare, could give a 
lick to this drumstick, I 
wager he would desert 
his emperor and demand 
Italian citizenship.” 
“For my part, I’d rather give him the 
chicken than the citizenship.” 

“I would as lief have it,” Stolz risked 
saying, passing his tongue over his whiskers. 
“I guess so.” 


146 




The Heart of Pinocchio 

“And I’ll give you not only a drumstick, 
but half a chicken with gravy and a loaf 
of bread to go with it, if you’ll tell me . . 

“We can’t talk; don’t want to betray 
our country.” 

“Dear Stolz, you’re a fine fellow, but if 
you can’t talk I can’t give you anything to 
eat and we are quits. But I haven’t asked 
you to betray either Croatia, or even 
Hungary, if you are afraid of Franz’s 
hearing you.” 

“ Oh, he speaks only Magyar.” 

“All the better; then you can tell me 
how many Bohemians, Slovaks, Carin- 
thians, Poles, Germans, and Styrians are in¬ 
trenched on Mount X opposite our men. . . . 
We’ll leave out the Croats, your country¬ 
men . . . and, moreover, I’ll wager five 
soldi of Victor Emanuel against a crown 
of your emperor that if they were here 
and smelled this odor they wouldn’t make 
such a to-do about it or talk like lawyers. 
But smell this” . . . and while he spoke 
the rascal of a Pinocchio took in both his 
hands the dish with the stew and held it 
close to Stolz’s nose, who shut his eyes and 
heaved a sigh as if he were giving up his 
soul to the god of all the Croats. 

12 147 


The Heart of Pinoccliio 

“You ’Talian scoundrel, if you give me 
and Franz all we can eat and drink I’ll tell 
you what you want to know.” 

“May the saints in Paradise reward you! 
If you sing and sing well, look what delicate 
morsels I’ll give you,” cried Ciampanella, 
jumping about with delight. He hastened 
to fill two plates with delicious food and 
two loaves of fresh bread and half of a sharp 
old sheep’s cheese which would have brought 
a dead man to life. 

“And now there’s nothing more to do 
except to untie your hands and to give you 
chairs to sit on.” 

“We have three lines of trenches, fifteen 
hundred men . . . two batteries placed on 
the Donkey’s Saddle . . . but you have 
Alpine troops and we can’t get the bet¬ 
ter of you. So our colonel had marvelous 
plan—he had huge mine dug and thought 
to blow up Alpines to bust them all up. 
This morning we attacked on purpose. 
When Alpines came face to us, we go all 
back to retreat, but they not come to mined 
spot and didn’t all bust up. But when 
Alpines enter first trench which we leave 
• . . bum! ’Talian pigs all dead and Aus¬ 
trian soldiers shout hurrah for emperor. 

148 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

Did you hear little while ago lots of noise? 
I knows ... I knows what it was . . . 
big mine blow up.” 

“And ’Talian pigs all killed, aren’t they?” 
yelled the enraged Ciampanella. 11 And you 
think I am going to give you food? Not 
by a long shot. See what game I’m going 
to play with you. In the mean time pray 
to the god of all the Croats that what you 
have said may not be true, because if, in¬ 
stead of making war as real soldiers do, 
your side has committed such a despicable 
deed, you two shall pay for it, and as truly 
as my name is Ciampanella, chef of the 
mess, you’ll pay for it dearly enough.” 

And shaking his lion head and jumping 
up in the air, waving his arms about vio¬ 
lently, he took up a piece of rope and 
bound the prisoners tightly to a pole which 
supported the roof of the dugout. 

‘ ‘ And now if you can eat these good gifts 
of God which I leave under your nose, you’ll 
do well, I assure you. . . . Come, Pinoc¬ 
chio, we must take this news to the officer 
commanding our company, because I don’t 
believe anything wrong has happened yet.” 

“And the prisoners?” 

“They won’t escape, I, Ciampanella, 

149 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

assure you. They are tied up like two pork 
sausages, and, besides, you know what 
we’ll do? When the door is shut we’ll put 
up against it one of the bombs that they 
make which go off almost without touching 
them. I know where some of them are 
hidden away. If they should succeed in 
loosening the rope and should try to get 
away they’ll take a ride in the air. And 
now we’ll wish the gentlemen good appetite 
and be off on our own affairs.” 

Five minutes later Ciampanella and 
Pinocchio were running across the snow 
through the dusk. 


CHAPTER IX 


How Pinocchio Complained Because He 
Was No Longer a Wooden Puppet 

I T was no easy matter for Ciampanella 
and Pinocchio to reach their company, 
which was intrenched about three miles 
away, on a declivity as sharp as a knife- 
blade, bordered by jagged precipices. They 
could not have held out against artillery 
up there, but the position was well chosen 
from which to hammer the enemy’s first 
trench that was built on a little slope two 
hundred yards lower down and less than 
two miles away. Farther along there 
opened up a pass of great strategic im¬ 
portance which the Austrians apparently 
were intending to defend at all costs. 
Yet it had seemed strange to Teschisso 
that the foe with its numerous exits should 
try to attack his Alpine troops in force, all 
the more that his first line of defense 

151 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

might be considered as irretrievably lost. 
For this reason he had restrained the 
impulse of his brave soldiers to fight and 
decided to intrench them on the difficult 
slope to await a favorable moment for 
decisive action. In the mean time he had 
been able to hammer the enemy’s position 
with four large pieces of artillery which he 
had placed on a summit above his intrench- 
ment. When Pinocchio related to him 
how, with the aid of the mess-cook, he had 
made Franz and Stolz sing, and repeated 
the few words which he had heard from 
their mouths, he had no longer any doubt 
regarding the foe’s strange behavior. 

“Heavens! Those scoundrels wanted to 
blow us up! Luckily I was prudent, but 
you’ll see what a joke I’ll invent to play 
on those dogs! Call Corporal Scotimondo.” 

The most important duties were usually 
intrusted to this soldier with a face like a 
cab-driver’s, with a large blond beard and 
full, ruddy cheeks, who at first sight looked 
so good-natured. But he was a man of ex¬ 
ceptional energy and extraordinary courage. 
Calm and quiet when danger raged, he 
could inspire in his comrades a boundless 
confidence. 


152 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“ Corporal, from information received 
I have learned that we have opposite us 
fifteen hundred men.” 

“ All the better.’’ 

“ And a mined zone.” 

“ That’s not so good, not good at all.” 

”1 have determined to attack the foe 
from the rear and force him on to the 
mined zone. I shall set off with the whole 
company, leaving only eight men in the 
trench, which they must hold at all costs 
and keep up a devilish fire to make the 
enemy think we are all here. Do you 
understand?” 

‘ 1 Certainly, certainly. ’ ’ 

“ You will command the squad.” 

“ Thanks, Captain.” 

“I will leave you also Pinocchio and 
Ciampanella, so that there will be ten of 
you. Choose the other eight quickly, be¬ 
cause I am going to give immediate orders 
to depart.” 

“Draghetta, Senzaterra, Pulin, Catta- 
ruzza, and the four Scagnol brothers.” 

“All right! Go and tell them. Re¬ 
member that I trust you. I am attempting 
a big coup, but if I succeed, Heavens, what 
a stroke! . . . They’ll fly up like birds.” 

i53 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

A little later Pinocchio was witness of a 
marvelous and fantastic scene. The narrow 
trench was alive with a mass of black figures 
that moved noiselessly. The Alpine troops 
armed themselves with rope and hatchets, 
filled up their canteens, and replenished their 
cartridge-belts, whispering quick, concise 
sentences, interrupted with laughs, quickly 
smothered as the rattle of an officer’s sword 
was heard. All these shadows grouped 
themselves in the depth of the trench 
against a heap of huge stones and merged 
into the profound darkness. For a time 
still there was to be heard coming from 
down below a subdued rustle, then a pro¬ 
found silence. Pinocchio was strangely 
affected and was eager to find out what 
had happened. He ran to the end of the 
trench—there was not a soul there. Where 
had his Alpine troops gone? Had they 
perhaps been swallowed up by the abyss 
which yawned a few feet away? He was 
so terrified that he began to yell desperately. 

4 ‘Captain! Captain Teschis . . 

He didn’t get the chance to finish; he 
felt two rough, heavy hands grab him by 
the ears and lift him up three feet from the 
ground. 

i54 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Less racket here. Don’t be such an 
idiot. Don’t you know that in the trenches 
you’ve got to be as quiet as in church, 
and . . . here I’m in command, and 
when I command anything I’ve got to 
be obeyed.” 

“I’ll obey,” Pinocchio grumbled, keeping 
back a cry of pain. 

Corporal Scotimondo put him down 
gently on the ground, face to face with him¬ 
self, and then asked, sharply: 

“What did you want with Captain 
Teschisso?” 

“I? Nothing.” 

“Why did you call him, then?” 

“I thought perhaps . . . something ter¬ 
rible had happened. . . . He’s gone . . . 
they’re all gone.” 

“Gone? How gone? They haven’t dis¬ 
appeared; they’ve only gone down . . 

“Where?” 

“The precipice, and then they’ll climb 
up again on the other side, will reach the 
first trench, will get the better of the enemy 
and drive them on the mined zone. Then 
we’ll see a fine sight. But until this 
minute comes we’ve got to keep quiet and 
not make a racket. Do you understand? 

G5 


The Heart of Pmocchio 

Now go to sleep because you have been 
mobilized and will have to stand sentry 
also, and, besides, to-morrow there’ll be 
things to do. Now march!” 

Scotimondo emphasized this command 
with a kick which made Pinocchio take the 



first steps and showed him the direction he 
was to go. The unexpected disappearance 
of the Alpine troops still seemed miraculous 
in spite of the simple explanation Scoti¬ 
mondo had given him, and Pinocchio had 

156 




The Heart of Pinocchio 

a profound respect for everything that 
smacked of magic. 

“Yes, gone down,” he grumbled to him¬ 
self while he was nearing the other end of 
the trench. “That's quickly said, but 
I’d just like to know how it is possible for 
men of skin and bones to do such a thing. 



The precipice is so deep and so steep that if 
Ciampanella had not pulled me by the collar 
I should never have got here. And how 
will they manage to get down it? Hum! 
I am almost beginning co believe that these 
Alpine soldiers are in league with the devil. 
I saw two of them yesterday with some 

i57 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

kind of shoes a couple of yards long which 
flew over the snow like airplanes. I 
wanted to ask the mess-cook to explain it 
to me, but from fear he would make fun of 
me I kept quiet. But from now on I must 
keep my eyes more on those men. If I 
discover they really have any dealings with 
the devil I’ll take myself off on the first 
occasion.” 

He stumbled and fell face downward 
into a soft warm mass from which came a 
dull grunt. Overcome with terror, he was 
about to take flight when he felt himself 
held fast by a leg as firmly as if by a trap. 

“I wish you’d get killed. Couldn’t you 
let me sleep a minute? You must be 
either a creditor or that tyrant of a picket 
officer going his rounds. ... If you are a 
creditor come back six months after peace 
is declared, because now I won’t pay you 
a soldo even if I had one. If you are the 
picket officer I tell you that when I have 
put out the fires I have a right to take my 
ease . . . and now let me sleep ... May 
you be . . .” 

“Oh, Ciampanella, let me go. Don’t 
you recognize me? I am Pinocchio.” 

“Oh, it’s you, youngster, is it? Did you 

158 


/ 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

intend to make me sing like Spizzete Spaz- 
zete? I have nothing to tell you, but if you 
insist upon my singing something for you at 
all costs, I will sing for you to get up off me.” 

Pinocchio, seeing that the mess-cook 
was in one of his “moments,” thought it 
prudent to leave him in peace, so he lay 
down on a heap of straw that was close by, 
intending to go to sleep. 

But his sleep didn’t last long. About 
four o’clock in the morning, when dawn 
was peeping over the horizon, he heard a 
shot that seemed to come from a spot not 
far from the trench. 

“Get your guns, boys!” yelled Scoti- 
mondo, rushing to a machine-gun, while 
the others, guns in hand, took their places 
before the loopholes. “It was Draghetta 
who saw the enemy. Boys, I count on you. 
We’ve got to make a racket, lots of noise 
as if all the company were here, and don’t 
expose yourselves ... let them have a 
continuous and intense fire.” 

His glance took in Pinocchio, who was 
gazing at him, his eyes wide open with 
terror, and Ciampanella tranquilly dozing. 
With a bound he caught up a gun and put it 
into the boy’s hands. 

G9 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

'‘Ho, lad, stop standing there doing noth¬ 
ing or I'll break your neck! I’ll smash your 
head before the potato-eaters knock it in.” 

With another spring he was on top of the 
cook, who was calmly dreaming a culinary 
dream, and gave him such a kick that he 
jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. 

“I hope they’ll eat you.” 

“Ready to fire! Fire! for Heaven’s sake!” 
Scotimondo screamed at him and ran to 
take his post, grumbling, “but why doesn’t 
the sentinel come back? What’s that scoun¬ 
drel of a Draghetta doing?” 

Ciampanella rubbed his eyes and dis¬ 
covered Pinocchio, who stood there turning 
his gun round and round without having yet 
discovered what exactly it was that he held. 

“May the dogs eat you! Instead of 
standing there fiddling with your weapon 
that you know as much about as I know 
about training fleas, you would do better to 
give a look at the saucepan that it doesn’t 
burn instead of making me get that kick 
from the corporal.” 

“But what saucepan? Are you still 
asleep?” 

“Didn’t you hear what he yelled at me 

when he kicked me? ‘Fire! Fire!”’ 

160 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

" Certainly, but he meant the fire of the 
battery, not that of the stove. Don’t you 
know that we are expecting an attack?” 

"Who says so? There’s no need to wait 
for it. You can wait if you want to, but 
I’m off. I don’t know anything about war 
and don’t know how to shoot. When there 
are necks to wring or beasts to butcher I’m 
ready, because they are hens or lambs or 
such like beasts, but Christians I can't, 
and toward the enemy I have the respect 
ordered by our superiors. Listen, young¬ 
ster, if two bullets hit me in the rear I’ll 
take them and won’t protest, but I don’t 
stay here at the front unless they tie me.” 

He was just getting away when Scoti- 
mondo, who had an eye on him, turned 
hurriedly and poked a revolver at his back. 

"Oh, very well! There are certain argu¬ 
ments you can’t dispute. I’ll remain, but 
I’ll find me a hole where I can be safe, 
because if I die the Manual of War Cookery 
won’t be written,” and he threw himself 
down on a big stone, signaling to the 
"youngster” to follow him. 

A voice outside was calling for help, only 
a few feet away from the trench. 

11 Stay where you are, all of you. I’ll go,’’ 

161 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

commanded Scotimondo, and, wriggling like 
a serpent, with his revolver in his hand, 
he set off and was lost in the darkness. 
Shortly after he returned, dragging in 
Draghetta. 

“ What’s the matter? Are you wounded?” 

“No, not exactly wounded, but I can’t 
stand up. I’m afraid my feet are frozen.” 

“Let’s have a look,” and he made him 
sit down and began to free him from his 
woolen puttees, his hobnailed boots, his 
waterproof stockings, and to rub his red, 
swollen feet with snow, all the time con¬ 
tinuing to question him. 

“Was it you who fired that shot?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is the enemy in sight?” 

“They tried to leave their trenches—two 
little groups—one of their usual nasty little 
ways to draw us out, and as my superiors 
did not see them, I thought it my duty to 
give the alarm signal.” 

“You were right.’’ 

“But I wasn’t able to get back because 
my legs gave way, so I had to try to crawl 
on my hands and knees until I had only 
breath enough left to call for help, certain 
and sure that ...” 


162 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Heavens! Swine!” Scotimondo swore 
and stopped rubbing. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Nothing, nothing; take your place at 
the machine-gun; I’ll take mine in the 
trench.” 

“Why?” 

“You have need of rest,” and he went off, 
growling, “poor Draghetta! He tried to 
warn the rest of us and couldn’t get away 
himself.’ 

He again left the trench to reconnoiter. 
Half an hour later he returned, assembled 
his men, and told them that the foe had 
retreated to their trenches, but that as 
soon as it was lighter they would have to 
make themselves heard, so as to keep the 
enemy from attempting an attack, which 
would undoubtedly be fatal to the little 
garrison. They would have to make a 
lot of noise, but must not waste ammuni¬ 
tion, because when Captain Teschisso’s 
company came into action they would prob¬ 
ably have to support it. 

“And I impress upon you the importance 
of not exposing yourselves. The first who 
does so I'll send to the devil myself . I have 
need of every one of you, and it’s too much 
13 i6 3 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

that out of ten one should be without feet, 
one a cook, and one who isn't even a man.” 

‘Did you hear that, youngster?” Ciam- 
panella asked Pinocchio, when the laugh 
which followed Scotimondo’s words had 
died down. “Did you hear? They want 
to send you to the firing-line. What do you 
think of that?” 

But Pinocchio didn’t reply. His wooden 
leg just then seemed to have nervous 
twinges and rattled like a rusty key in a 
lock. The sun had scarcely begun to rise 
above the horizon and the snow to glisten 
in its rays when from the trench cut out of 
the slope narrow as a knife-blade came a 
sound of firing that was truly infernal. 
The machine-gun was smoking, but poor 
Draghetta didn’t let it rest a minute. The 
others kept up a tremendous fire and an 
accurate one, because they could see that 
the parapet of the enemy’s trench was 
marked by little red clouds. Every now 
and then above the crackle of the musketry 
resounded the humming of larger pro¬ 
jectiles that had their own special tone. 
The Austrian commanders were evidently 
laying plans for the whole day because 

there was not even the shadow of an enemy 

164 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

to be seen. They contented themselves 
with replying with an occasional shell. 
But what would they have done if they had 
known that opposite them were only seven 
men, and one of them disabled, and that 
the formidable ta-pum , ta-pum , ta-pum 
which rose above the whine of the musketry 
came from—the mouths of Pinocchio and 
Ciampanella? 

The coming of the twilight cast a veil of 
melancholy over the little garrison, wearied 
by the fatigues imposed by its continual 
vigilance and the continual answer to the 
firing of the foe. 

They were all expecting every moment 
to see Captain Teschisso’s company come 
into action, the Austrians swept from their 
trenches with the bayonets at their backs 
and thrown on the mined zone where they 
would all be blown up. Yet nothing of the 
sort was taking place. The enemy had 
never appeared more quiet and as sure of 
himself as to-day. What had happened 
to the company? It wasn’t possible that it 
had been captured by superior forces. 
The Alpine troops would have fought like 
lions; the noise of their battle would have 
reached the trench, and some one would 

165 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

certainly have returned to bring the news 
of the disaster. It was more likely that 
Captain Teschisso, knowing that he would 
have to engage a superior force, had decided 
to attack at night. The surprise and the 
impossibility of judging the number of the 
assaulting force would certainly keep the 
enemy from resisting. But Corporal Scoti- 
mondo was not altogether satisfied with his 
captain’s tactics. 

“I’m not a Napoleon,” he grumbled, in 
his patois, striding with long steps through 
the narrow passageway of the trenches, 
every now and then making a right-about 
face. “I’m not a Napoleon. It’s easy to 
say ‘hold fast at all costs,’ but in order to 
hold fast you have to have men. My men 
are not made of iron; I am not made of 
iron; they need rest and yet even to let 
them rest I can’t allow the trench to be 
without sentinels all night. If I change 
sentries every half-hour, nobody sleeps; if 
I make them stay at the posts for two hours 
according to regulations, they’ll come back 
to me with their feet frozen like Draghetta, 
and then we couldn’t hold fast. Plague 
take it! This is certainly a situation to 

upset a corporal. If . . 

166 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

He stopped suddenly because Pinocchio 
barred his way. He looked at him for a 
minute in amazement, gestured with his 
head for him to move to one side, but, seeing 
that he stood there as firmly as if he had 
taken root, he grunted, I don’t know 
whether with anger or surprise. 

“Skip, boy, skip. Don’t you understand 
anything? Don’t you understand I want 
you to get from under my feet?” 

“Just a question, corporal.” 

“What is it?” 

“You need a sentinel for to-night.” 

“Yes, a new one every half-hour.” 

“I have come to volunteer.” 

“Why not? I like the idea . . . you, 
too, will take your half-hour’s turn, but 
this doesn’t help me solve my problem 
of . . .” 

“But I have come to volunteer for the 
whole night.” 

“Really? Are you in earnest?” 

“Yes, indeed. You see, Corporal Squas- 
samondo, I should have liked to remind you 
this morning early that I have a wooden 
leg, but I prefer to tell you now. Wood 
doesn’t freeze and so I can stand guard 

for ten hours even without any danger, if 

167 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

you only give me enough to cover myself 
with and plenty to eat.” 

“And the other leg?” 

“Ciampanella has told me that storks 
sleep all night standing on one leg and 
don’t fall over. I am a man ‘that’s not a 
man,’ but if I were no more good than a 
stork I shouldn’t have got a wooden leg 
on the battle-field.” 

The little lesson had sunk in and Scoti- 
mondo felt it like a pinch on the shins. 
He tried to be furious, but didn’t succeed. 
He let out a terrible “Good Heavens!” 
then was overcome with emotion, caught 
Pinocchio in his arms, pressed him to him¬ 
self, and kissed him again and again. 

It was a night blacker than a German 
conscience. Two shadows glided over the 
snow and stopped in the shelter of a rock 
which dominated all the narrow slope, the 
enemy’s trenches, the awful mass of peaks 
and jagged ridges. At the side of the 
adversary’s position the snow was marked 
with an enormous black streak which was 
lost in the depth of the mountains. It was 
the abyss, a frightful wedge-shaped crack 

which looked like an enormous interroga- 

168 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

tion point drawn with charcoal on an 
immense white sheet. 

“You feel all right?” 

“Fine as possible.” 

“ Did they give you a good supper?” 

“I’m so full that I can’t draw^ a long 
breath with all this stuff I’ve got on me. 
I certainly sha’n’t feel cold.” 

* 1 In your right pocket you’ll find a thermos 
bottle of hot coffee; in the other, chocolate.” 

“Splendid.” 

“Do you want a gun?” 

“What should I do with it? In case of 
alarm I’ll keep sounding 1 ta-pum 1 like this 
morning.” 

“ Then you understand. You must Keep 
a lookout down there all the time, there 
where the white of the snow meets the 
black of the sky. If you see anything white 
on black or black on white which moves 
give the alarm; if not, keep still. Take 
good care not to fall asleep, because if I 
should go the rounds and find you asleep 
I should be compelled to kill you at your 
post.” 

“In that case wake me up . . . five 
minutes beforehand.” 

“Well, I’m off.” 


169 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Good luck.” 

“I want to impress it on you—no racket 
now.” 

“Good-by, Scrollamondo. Don’t worry.” 

Pinocchio had the courage of a lion that 
night, and if the Austrians had attempted 
an attack he would have felt equal to them 
all by himself. As soon as he was alone 
he took out from the pockets of his cloak, 
so full of food that they seemed a military 
depot, a thin rope a couple of yards long, 
knotted one end of it, stuck his head 
through, bending his good leg, put his foot 
on the rope, which he swung in front of him 
at the height of his knee, and, leaning 
against the rock, stood there still, resting 
on his wooden leg. 

“And now I am ready,” he muttered, 
contentedly; “now let them come on. I’m 
not afraid of any one, not even of the snow. 
There’s no denying it—my idea was mag¬ 
nificent. If that simpleton Toni Salandra 
had had one as good he would have saved 
the Ministry. Two feet of rope and the 
trench is saved. With two soldi’s worth 
of soap he could have saved the finest 

Parliament our poor country has ever seen. 

170 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

. . . It’s queer that I haven’t the slightest 
sensation of fear. . . . It’s dark, but I 
seem to see as well as by day. It must be 
that a sentinel’s duty clears the sight. I 



could swear that I could see a flea a mile 
away. Besides, my duty is simple: I am 
to stay here and do nothing; I am not to 
get my feet frozen, and as far as that is con¬ 
cerned there’s no danger; and I am to look 
out for white moving on black or black on 
white. Then, ta-pum , ta-pum , ta-pum, like 
this morning, then throw myself on the 
ground and creep back to the trench like a 

171 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

cat. . . . What a fire we kept up this 
morning, I and Ciampanella! He fired so 
often and so vigorously that he ended by 
falling over with fright. ... If he hadn’t 
had to sleep off his fatigue I couldn’t have 
done the fine deed I’m doing. I am sure 
he wouldn’t have let me get cold like this 
. . . because ... I didn’t feel it at first, but 
now I feel chills creeping up my spinel” 

When Pinocchio stuck his hand into his 
pocket it touched the rounded form of the 
thermos bottle. He took it out, put it to his 
lips, and drank a mouthful. Five minutes 
later the boy felt the heat mounting to his 
brain as if he were at the mouth of a furnace. 

“Ah-ha! That’s good! When I am a 
general like Win-the-War I’ll heat the rail¬ 
way compartment with coffee instead of 
with a radiator. I wish they’d ‘murder’ 
the garments I got on, as Ciampanella 
says: When I think that he made me 
run the risk of having eight bullets in my 
stomach I don’t know what to do. But 
before I would have him burned up, it 
would be nice to sleep here under this 
upholstered seat, with the lullaby of the 
train that sounds as if my nurse were sing¬ 
ing it. If he found me now I should like 

172 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

to drop into one of those dozes from which 
even Ciampanella’s ta-pum wouldn’t wake 
me. ... If I go to sleep I’ll be cold. 
That tyrant of a Scotimondo would just 
as lief wake me up with a revolver at my 
head. ... I’d like to know what’s the 
fun of keeping a poor sentinel out in the 
cold where there’s nothing to watch, be¬ 
cause I bet a soldo against a lira that the 
Austrians are sleeping soundly to-night— 
I seem to hear them snoring like so many 
suckling pigs. ... No, I said I wouldn’t 
go to sleep, and to keep my word I won’t go 
to sleep, but I can allow myself a nod, just 
a little nod. There’s no black on white, 
or white on black; it seems to me to be 
getting more cloudy . . . so that . . . Scoti¬ 
mondo? But what is it? I am no Napoleon 
. . . he said it. But even Napoleon when 
he found a sleeping sentinel took his gun 
and waited till he waked up. He would do 
the same . . . with the difference that I 
haven’t any gun ... so that . . . not so 
much noise . . . Scotimon . . . ? but where 
is Scotmona . . . Scoti . . . mon . . . do . . .” 

Just at this moment the snow began to 
fall gently, so gently, and as dry as flour 

i73 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

just from the mill. The corporal, who was 
about to set out on his usual tour of inspec¬ 
tion, glanced at the sky, then growled, 
as he rubbed his hands: “The Austrians 
won’t come out in such weather. It will 
be a foot thick in less than an hour. I’ll 
go and sleep, myself.” 

Pinocchio woke up with a start. It was 
dawn! . . . He found himself buried in 
the snow up to his chest. He looked 
about and could no longer see the enemy’s 
trench; he looked behind him and couldn’t 
recognize the Italian post. What under 
the heavens had happened? He was on 
the point of becoming despondent and ready 
to give the alarm when on the side of the 
enemy’s position in the wide wedge-sloped 
cleft, which looked like an exclamation 
point drawn with charcoal on an immense 
white sheet, he thought he saw a curious 
movement like many ants. He fixed his 
eyes on it, and while his heart beat so 
loudly that he thought he would suffocate, 
he concentrated all his attention, all his 
mind, on the point there below. He saw 
the jagged rock swarming with Alpine 
troops, saw little clusters of men suspended 

i74 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

over the abyss, and ropes hanging in space 
slowly lifting up soldiers; and at the sight 
of this miracle of daring and dexterity he 
naturally forgot the fear of his wakening. 
Anxiously he followed the maneuvers of 
these brave sons of Italy, saw them sud¬ 
denly disappear. . . . Then a cry of terror 


rose from the enemy’s trench, a rattle of 
guns and almost at the same moment two or 
three hundred Austrians were in flight and 
flinging themselves on the slope, pursued 
by a steady fire. It was time to give the 
alarm. Pinocchio wanted to let out one 
of his extraordinary ta-pums , but just then 
a terrible explosion shook the earth and 
clouded the sky. ... A horrible yell, a cry 

i75 




The Heart of Pinocchio 

from hundreds of throats struck him to the 
marrow . . . then there was silence. 

Captain Teschisso, returning victorious 
from his expedition, found Pinocchio there, 
and tenderly gave him first aid, but, seeing 
that he didn’t come to, he intrusted him 
to four soldiers, saying: 

“Take him to the first ambulance, with 
Draghetta and the other wounded, and 
tell the surgeon to care for him as my best 
friend. Poor youngster, who will have to 
have another wooden leg! But we have 
avenged him and given those dogs what 
they deserved. Heavens, what a fight 1 ” 


CHAPTER X 


Many Deeds and Few Words 

M Y dear little friends, I won’t stop to 
show you Pinocchio in the sad sur¬ 
roundings of a hospital. I will tell you only 
that he stayed there for more than two 
months, and that he left it with his two 
wooden legs, new and well oiled, and that 
Fatina, by a curious coincidence, was his 
careful and affectionate nurse, and that 
Ciampanella, playing the part of a good 
friend, did not fail to make him frequent 
visits, bringing with him certain samples 
of camp cookery which enraptured Pinoc¬ 
chio. His surgeon was a most polite Pied¬ 
montese, always bowing and salaaming, 
who announced to him with all formality 
the misfortune which had again overtaken 
him and asked his permission two days in 
advance to amputate his frozen leg. 

“All right,” exclaimed Pinocchio, “go 

i77 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

ahead. I’ve got accustomed to such trifles 
now. But you must do me a favor.” 

“Let me hear it.” 

“When you give me my new wooden leg 
I want it to be longer than usual and that 
naturally you change the other one, too.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’d feel as if I were on stilts and 
it would amuse me to death to take steps 
longer than any one else.” 

He was satisfied and left the hospital 
with such long legs that he was almost as 
tall as Ciampanella, who took Pinocchio’s 
arm in his as if he were his sweetheart. 

“Heh, youngster, but you have grown! 
And then they say that we non-combatants 
never do anything! I haven’t done any¬ 
thing, but if I were the one I have in mind 
I would bestow on you the medal for 
bravery because your legs have won it. I 
tell you, I, who know what I am talking 
about.” 

“Even if they don’t give me anything, I 
am satisfied all the same. All I ask is 
for them to leave me here and not send me 
home.” 

“Come with me and I’ll appoint you first 

adjutant of the mess kitchen, and when I 

178 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

have taught you how and put the ladle 
in your hand we will live on the fat of the land 
and will make meat-balls with our leavings 
for the general, and when we don’t know 
what else to do we’ll write the Manual of 
War Cookery , which I won’t risk now 
because I haven’t a writing hand, as the 
saying is.” 

“ Listen, Ciampanella, I am as grateful as 
if you had offered to lend me a hundred 
lire without interest, but just now I can’t 
accept.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it requires a special constitu¬ 
tion to be a cook. I’d be all right as far 
as eating the best morsels was concerned, 
but it would be dangerous for me to stay 
near the stove. I am half wooden and run 
the risk of catching on fire. I should have 
to decide to take out insurance against fire. 
Moreover, let’s consider. To-day I have 
other views. Fatina here has given me a 
letter for my friend Bersaglierino, who is 
at headquarters as the war correspondent 
of an important newspaper. We’ll see 
what he advises me to do.” 

They parted good friends after a solemn 
feast which almost made Ciampanella roll 
14 179 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

under the table, like an ancient Roman at 
one of the banquets of Lucullus or Nero. 

Bersaglierino was truly delighted to see 
his dear little friend again and kept him 



with him several days for company. From 
him he learned a number of things he didn’t 
know. One day he asked him: 

“Tell me, Pinocchio, do you know the 
reason for this war in which you, too, have 
played your small part and to which you 
have paid tribute of part of yourself ?” 

“Do you imagine I don’t know? It is 
to make Italy bigger .” 

“And that seems a just reason to you?” 

180 
















The Heart of Pinocchio 

“ That's what every one says.” 

“All those who don’t know what they 
are talking about. If every nation had 
the right to let loose a war for the sole 
purpose of enlarging her boundaries we’d 
have to take off our hats to the Germans 
who provoked the present curse for their 
own purposes. We have other and nobler 
ideals. We have brothers to liberate, peo¬ 
ples to free from a foreign yoke. Certain 
lands which are ours because they were 
enriched by the labors of our fathers, 
because our Italian tongue is spoken in 
them, were until to-day exploited by the 
enemy, who sought in every way to embitter 
the existence of our brothers, paying with 
contempt and scorn, with persecution and 
oppression, their loyalty and love for the 
mother-country. Italian unity, begun in 
the revolutionary movement of 1811, was 
not completed in 1870 with the taking of 
Rome. The jealousy of other nations 
halted us on our way to emancipation. We 
were too weak then to make our will felt; 
we were exhausted with fifty years of con¬ 
tinuous fighting and we had need of a little 
rest in order to restore our energy. To-day 

we are strong enough to stand up for our 

181 . 


I 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

rights. Neither underhand dealings of 
wicked men nor betrayal by partizans will 
prevent the victory of our arms. Italy will 
be retempered in the war. Our destiny will 
be fulfilled. 

“I see as in a dream our borders which 
have been overrun won back to us, Trent 
bleeding with Italian blood, Goriza twice 
redeemed, Trieste in the shadow of the 
tricolor. Istria awaits us impatiently; Pa- 
renzo is preparing the way for us to Pola, 
which we shall take intact, with the de¬ 
fenses the Austrians erected there against 
our own brothers. Zara, Sebenico, and the 
coast of Dalmatia, which for so many cen¬ 
turies displayed the glorious insignia of the 
Lion of St. Mark, are longing impatiently 
for the moment which shall reunite them to 
the mother-country, that for them and with 
them will grow ever greater. War is a 
curse; this one which is being fought to-day 
all over the civilized world is perhaps the 
most terrible which humanity has ever 
known; yet it will not fail to bring great 
blessings. It has awakened the consciences 
of peoples and revealed the virtues and the 
defects of particular races. In the contest 

of the ancient Latin civilization with the 

182 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

Teuton power the might of right has been 
re-established, the right that has been 
trampled upon by force. . . 

And so on and so on, for when Bersa- 
glierino began to argue there was no way of 
stopping him, and Pinocchio stood there 
listening with his mouth open like a peasant 
absorbed by the wonderful discourse of a 
fakir at a fair. And who knows how long 
he would have stood there, but Bersa- 
glierino had so much to do and was obliged 
to leave him alone, letting him stay in 
the rear where he could follow the progress 
of the war without exposing himself too 
much, but where he could still be doing 
important service for his country. He put 
him in the care of a captain of the com¬ 
missary department, a good friend of his 
who had the unlucky idea of making him a 
baker in a camp bakery. He stayed there 
only two days, astounded at the enormous 
quantity of bread which was kneaded and 
baked all the time. All he did was to give 
a hand in filling the baskets which were 
loaded on automobiles that carried the 
bread to the front. The third day he made 
a figure of dough that looked like the twin 
brother of the captain, put it in the oven 

183 • 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

and, when it was baked, set it astraddle 
on the cup of coffee poured out for that 
officer, then hid himself behind a curtain 
to take part in the welcome which would 
certainly be given to his most valuable 
work of art. But the commissary officer's 
orderly found him and wanted to dust his 
trousers and pull his ears. He never suc¬ 
ceeded in doing this. Pinocchio helped 
him out of the house with kicks and then 
hurled him into the flour-barrel. If they 
had not pulled him out in time he would 
have suffocated. 

The boy fled on the first automobile which 
left for the front, and for several days 
whirled back and forth between the front 
and rear lines, going forward on the supply 
automobiles and returning on the Red Cross 
ambulances which brought the wounded 
to the first-aid posts. The drivers were 
glad to take him on their machines because 
he kept them all jolly with his pranks, and 
he, better than any one, was able to get 
an idea of the gigantic and wonderful work 
which was being done side by side with the 
army which was fighting for the defense 
of its country. What profound respect 

for discipline, what order, what spirit of 

184 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

self-sacrifice in those brave soldiers (almost 
all fathers of families), continually exposed 
to bad weather, to the hardest fatigues, 
to the most complete privations! Rain, 
snow, ice, tornadoes of wind and of shot 
and shell, nothing succeeded in interrupting 
for a single minute the interminably long 
chain of wagons and lorries that carried 
food to the trenches, ammunition to the 
artillery, and cannon to the fortified posi¬ 
tions. The drivers, dead with sleep, soaked 
with rain, shivering with cold, remained 
calmly at their wheels and at the heads of 
their horses. When the great caravan 
stopped for a moment for any reason these 
men, revived with new energy and by the 
force of their will, started the huge mech¬ 
anism on its way again. 

For a little way Pinocchio thought he 
would become an automobile-driver, but 
when they told him that he would have to 
have a license and that, in order to get one, 
he would have to take a regular examina¬ 
tion, he didn’t proceed farther. Examiners 
he looked upon as even greater enemies 
than Franz Joe’s hunters. 

After pondering the subject a long time 
he decided to become a military postman. 

185 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

At first he took pleasure in it all. When 
he arrived it seemed as if heaven had come 
down to earth. He was received like a 
king, with joyous cries and shouts, and he 
walked between two rows of soldiers like a 



general. When he distributed the letters 
it was as if he conferred a favor; when he 
handed out a money-order he had an air 
of condescension as if he were doling the 

soldi from his purse. When he had fin- 

186 







The Heart of Pinocchio 

ished distributing the mail he would let 
them pay him to read their letters. I can 
tell you it was not an easy matter. Often 
he had hieroglyphics to decipher which 
would have given trouble to a professor of 
paleontology. But Pinocchio had such a 
quick mind that when he found he couldn’t 
puzzle it out he invented a letter and 
did it so well that he earned a soldo by 
it and the deep gratitude of his clients. 
What disgusted him with the business was 
the postal service, which suddenly became 
confoundedly bad, perhaps on account of a 
change in the Ministry. Pinocchio saw his 
popularity vanish in an instant, and the 
soldiers made him bear the brunt of their 
dissatisfaction. One day he heard so many 
complaints that he grew furious and flung 
away the bag he wore about his neck and 
cried out to those who were disputing 
around him: 

“You are a bunch of imbeciles. Why 
do you come to me with your letters? Do 
you know what you ought to do? Go and 
get them, because I won’t take another 
step for the sake of your pretty faces.” 

His ears were boxed again and again and 

he replied with as many kicks, but he didn’t 

187 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

play postman any more. He was wonder¬ 
ing to what new service he could dedicate 
himself when a corporal baker gave him this 
note: 

Dear Pinocchio, — I am having the one who will 
hand you this write these lines so that he can tell 
you for me that I have a great longing to see you, 
because I am not well and I don’t know what to do, 
and I sign myself your most affectionate 

ClAMPANELLA, 

Chief Mess-cook in the service of the 
Commander-in-chief. 

Pinocchio was so affected by this letter 
that he set off at once in search of his friend. 
He found him in full performance of his 
noble functions, white, red, and flourishing 
as if he had come back the day before from 
taking the cure at Montecatini. 

“Well?” he said in astonishment, after 
they had embraced. 

“Well, youngster, I am here and I am 
not here in this beastly world.” 

“But, truly ...” 

“You wouldn’t say that I am on the 
downward path, to make use of the words 
of the chaplain, but Ciampanella is no 
longer himself. They have given me only 

a few months more to live. I don’t mind 

188 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

for myself, you know. I think that I shall 
be as well off there as I have been here. . . . 
But I am thinking of humanity.” 

“ Nothing and a little less than nothing.” 

“No joking now, youngster. Without 
the Manual of War Cookery written by 
Ciampanella humanity can never be happy, 
because with it men will eat and laugh, 
and when you laugh you spend willingly, 
and when you spend willingly you eat well. 
... So that . . . 

“Why don’t you write it?” 

“First of all, because I lack the knowledge 
of handwriting, which you’ve got to do; 
that is why I sent for you, and then . . . 
because I am afraid that I won’t have 
time enough to dictate it all, because the 
surgeon-major who* examined me said that I 
had a disease of the liver from eating too 
much, and that it would be the liver that 
would bring me to my grave if I didn’t stop 
immediately living on the fat of the land 
and drink quantities of water. Listen, 
youngster, I have always had a great antip¬ 
athy for liver, so much so that I never even 
put it in patties called Strasburg and which 
in my Manual I will rechristen ‘Austro- 

German Trenches with Reinforcements of 

189 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

War Bread and Ambushed in Jelly.’ But 
that’s not the point. As I tell you, I have 
always had a great antipathy to liver, but 
also for water, so much so, I’ll tell you in 
confidence, that sometimes I don’t even use 
it to wash my face in. 

“So listen. Since they have brought me 
to this crossroads—either drink water and 
live or eat good things and let my liver take 
me to the next world—I have decided on the 
latter. Before dying I wanted to call you 
to my presence to tell you that as I have no 
one in the world I have been thinking of 
leaving you everything I possess: ten 
ladles, a carver, the change-purse, and the 
recipes for the Manual , for which, when you 
publish it, they will give you at least the 
cross of a knight, that when you put it on 
will make*you feel ’way and ahead of those 
who look at you.” 

In short, Ciampanella said so much and 
did so much that he persuaded Pinocchio 
to stay with him. And certainly the boy 
could not find a better way of making 
himself useful to his country. The mess- 
cook was at the orders of a division. 
Each day he satisfied the hunger of four 

generals, six colonels, and a crowd of 

190 




The Heart of Pinocchio 


majors and captains of the General Staff. 
All these were men who had need of good 
eating that wouldn’t cause indigestion. 



Pinocchio served ... as director of the 
mess. When he saw some saucepan boil¬ 
ing over, a pot too full, he quickly reduced 
them by tasting their contents generously. 

Sauces and ragouts were his passion. Every 

191 


















The Heart of Pinocchio 

now and then you might have seen him 
dipping half a loaf of bread into the cas¬ 
seroles. One day a captain who was in¬ 
specting surprised him at this, and naturally 
he lit into Ciampanella about it, who 
threatened to quit the kitchen if they didn’t 
leave him in peace. 

“Do you understand, Mr. Captain? Do 
you imagine that standing over a fire is 
a great pleasure? I am beginning to 
believe that it is better to stay in the 
trenches and die with a loll in the head 
than in the rear when you come and ruin 
my comfort with your inspections. But 
do you know what I’ll do? I’ll hide the 
ladles in a place I know of and I’ll take 
up a musket and you’ll see what you’ll see.” 

The captain had to slink off, speeded by 
the laughs of Pinocchio, whose nose was 
smeared and greasy and his mouth dripping 
with tomato sauce. Ciampanella, who was 
so lacking in respect to his superiors, obeyed 
the boy as if he were a head taller than he. 
Pinocchio had persuaded him to drink quarts 
of water and to take digestive tablets after 
his meals, and every morning a spoonful 
of salts in a glass of water as the surgeon- 

major had ordered. And he followed out 

192 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

this prescription so carefully that he had 
noticed a wonderful improvement, and he 
kept a big bottle full of medicine among 
his cans of pepper and spices. This fact 
had several times started an idea in Pinoc- 
chio’s whimsical pate, and several times 
he had been on the point of exchanging 
this medicine for the kitchen salt, but the 
thought of the serious consequences which 
might result had kept him from doing it. 
Moreover, Pinocchio was called more and 
more often to serve the mess-table and 
spent less time in the kitchen. The famous 
captain of the inspection had thought in 
this way to avenge himself upon that most 
insolent of semi-puppets, but, to tell you 
the truth, he didn’t find it bad. Serving 
at table so many grand generals seemed 
to him almost an honor, and he was proud 
of it. When he handed the dishes to the 
highest officers he would make low bows; 
the captains he treated almost with disdain. 
He always tried to serve his “particular” 
captain the last, and when there was left 
in the dish scarcely enough to scrape out 
another portion he would whisper in his ear : 

“Heh, Captain, blessed are those that 
are last!” 


i93 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

The captain fumed, but waited for the 
. moment when he could give him a repri¬ 
mand. He thought the time had come one 
morning when he found a fly in the stew. 

“Come here, you little beast.” 

“Yes, sir; at your orders, sir.” 

“Look!” and he stuck the plate of stew 
two inches from his nose. 

“There is no doubt, Captain, that it is 
a fly, a very vulgar fly,” and sticking two 
fingers delicately into the sauce he pulled 
the insect out ... “a fly indeed! But 
you may consider yourself lucky because 
in the rations of your men there will be at 
least twenty of them. And those who 
fight don’t think much of it. You do the 
same, Captain . . . in war-time don’t bother 
about such trifles.” 

A tank commander who was next to him 
laughed heartily. The captain, as green 
as a newly formed tomato, kept quiet and 
ate the stew. 

That day there was a grand dinner for 
some French and British officers who had 
come on a mission to the front. Ciam- 
panella had cooked one of his wonderful 

recipes. Pinocchio, who had stuck his 

194 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

nose and tongue into all the pots and pans, 
swore that even the King’s cook was not 
equal to producing such a dinner. And 
he, too, wished to do himself honor. He 
set the table in a grassy spot surrounded by 
high trees and thick hedges. It wasn’t 
possible to find a more picturesque spot, 
shady and safe from curious eyes, from 
reporters, and—spies. It was a little dis¬ 
tance from the kitchen, but distances 
didn’t bother Pinocchio, whose legs, longer 
than ordinary ones, could take steps like a 
giant’s. He decorated the table with wild 
flowers and wove between the branches 
of the trees the flags of Italy, France, Eng¬ 
land, and America, tied together with the 
colors of Belgium, dressed himself afresh, 
and prepared to display all his good 
manners. 

All the high officers seated at the table 
made a wonderful sight. The uniforms, 
starred with crosses and ribbons, shining 
with gold and silver, were all the more 
sparkling against the green background of 
the trees and the meadow. 

Pinocchio had served the finest consomme 
with the air of a head waiter in an expen¬ 
sive restaurant. When he returned to 
15 195 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

serve a magnificent capon in jelly shaped 
like a cannon surrounded by hearts of 
green lettuce which appeared on the menu 
under the name “William's Wishes, with 
Evasions of German Financiers,” he was 
struck by a strange sight. All the diners 
had fled from the table and were going 
hurriedly behind the hedge, overcome with 
nausea. A terrible idea flashed through 
Pinocchio's mind. He turned around and, 
his capon in his hand, rushed to the 
kitchen. 

1 ‘ Ciampanella! Ciampanella!’' 

“What’s the matter?” 

“The medicine?” 

“What’s the medicine got to do with 
dinner?” 

“What did you put in the soup?” 

“Are you crazy, youngster? Be quiet 
and let the officers eat.” 

“Ciampanella, are you perfectly sure of 
yourself?” 

“Why do you ask me if I am sure of 
myself?” 

“Because . . . the officers aren’t eating.” 

“What are they doing?” 

“Just come and see, because I don’t 

understand about cooking.” 

196 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

They went running, but had scarcely 
passed the threshold when a bomb from an 
enemy airplane burst a few feet from them. 
They were hit in the chest by a column of 
air which turned them round, were hurled 
back into the kitchen, and buried beneath 
a shower of masonry. 

Ciampanella remained buried there, to 
the great misfortune of humanity, who, 
after all, had to do without his Manual of 
War Cookery , but Pinocchio was dug out 
alive. He was carried hastily to the nearest 
ambulance station and fell into the hands 
of a splendid surgeon, who, after having set 
a slender fracture of the arm and of the 
breastbone, swore to save him in spite of 
fate. He hurriedly amputated an arm, 
and a fortnight later in the hospital of a 
near-by city they extracted the broken ribs, 
for which they substituted two silver plates. 

When Fatina and the Bersaglierino hur¬ 
ried to his bed to help him and cheer him 
they found themselves face to face with a 
poor creature who, with his artificial legs, 
arm, and breast, seemed indeed ... a 
wooden puppet. 

But Pinocchio was still himself, humorous, 

197 • 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

lively, and mischievous. When he noticed 
that Fatina was looking at him with her 
big blue eyes full of tears and pity, he 
shrugged his shoulders and, scratching his 
left ear vigorously, made a face and said: 

“ Pretty object, heh? But you must be 
patient. In order to become a real boy 
I couldn’t help but go back to . . . the 
old one!” 


CHAPTER XI 


And Now—Finished or Not Finished 

I T was a beautiful morning, sparkling with 
sunshine and glory because the tricolor 
was waving from the windows of every 
house and the people in the streets had 
joy in their eyes and a smile on their lips. 
On the terrace of a handsome mansion, 
a terrace of marble decorated with exotic 
plants, at the end of which was a large 
stained-glass window, a man of mature age 
and military bearing was stretched out in 
a reclining-chair. He was smoking a large 
meerschaum pipe and blew out such puffs 
of smoke that it seemed as if he were trying 
to obscure the sun. By his side was a 
soldier awaiting orders, and near by was a 
stand on which a magnificent green parrot 
stood, scratching his head with his claw 
and rolling his big yellow eyes. 

11 Heh! What do you say to that, Duretti ? 
Are we or are we not great? To-day that 

we can say we have made Italy?” 

199 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“Now you see 
Italy 

The general has made so free ...” 

chattered the wretch of a parrot. 

“Be quiet, Coccorito; if you keep on 
with that nonsense I won’t give you any 
sunflower seeds for a week. I’d like to know 
who trained him to be so impertinent 
during my absence. If it were not . . .” 

General Win-the-War started to get up, 
but a sudden twinge of pain made him 
cry out and keep still in his chair. After 
biting his lips for five minutes he began 
again to suck the mouthpiece of his pipe, 
and after smoking up the air for another 
five minutes he said: 

“Heh! My dear Duretti, it is a great 
satisfaction to fight for the greatness of 
one’s country, and if it were not for that 
cursed Austrian shot which broke my leg 
I should like ...” 

But Coccorito wouldn’t let him finish 
and began to sing in his horrible voice: 

“Every day, 

P 6 —pe—pe, 

When he grew great, 

The soldiers he ate, 

Ho, ho, ho! 

200 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

He broke his leg, 

Or so he said, 

Tis gout, you know, 

Won’t let him go . . 

The general groaned and threw with all 
the strength he had left his big meerschaum 


pipe at the bird. Coccorito would have 

come to a sad end if the god of parrots had 

201 






The Heart of Pinocchio 

not, as he always did, held his protecting 
hand over his tuft. The pipe grazed his 
head and fell in the street, while he, with 
a strong tug at his light brass chain, flew 
off and perched himself on the window-sill 
of the floor above, where he laughed loudly 
and cried: 

“Ha, ha, ha! 

The general to the front set out, 

Felt a blow and down he fell, 

Because he suffers from the gout. 

He says his leg he broke—well, well— 

For his King, for Italy 
He broke his leg—he, he, he, he!” 

But Coccorito could now sing in peace 
and be as insolent as he liked because the 
general was no longer paying any attention 
to him, for two excellent reasons. First, 
because, in spite of his high rank, he was 
not great enough to reach up to the second- 
floor window; second, and more important, 
because at the moment that his pipe fell in 
the street a carriage stopped in front of the 
house and out of it got a gentleman, a lady, 
and ... a small box they were carrying, 
and it was against this box that the strange 
projectile fell, making such a clatter that 

the lady couldn’t help uttering a few words 

202 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

of protest. Win-the-War, who never al¬ 
lowed any one to outdo him in courtesy, 
found it necessary to explain matters, and 
with the help of his orderly got up from his 
chair and dragged himself to the railing 
of the terrace. 

“ Pardon me, I beg you. ... You are 
right to protest, but my pipe . . . fell. 

. . . I threw it. . . . In short, it is all the 
fault of my parrot, who upset me and the 
pipe. Coccorito, show them at least . . . 
so that the lady and gentleman may not 
believe . . .” 

“ But don’t imagine such a thing, General. 
Don’t bother yourself . . . it is no matter.” 

“Ha, ha, ha! 

The general to the front set out, 

Felt a blow and down he fell, 

Because he suffers from the gout. 

He says his leg he broke—well, well— 
For his King, for Italy 
He broke his leg—he, he, he, he!” 

Coccorito began again. 

“Oh, you wretch! Did you hear him?” 
“Don’t apologize, General. I beg your 
pardon. Does old Geppetto live here?” 

“Yes, sir, on the floor above. Ring the 
second bell.” 


203 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

“ Thank you.” 

“Not at all.” 

Old Geppetto was getting ready to mend 
an old table the legs of which were red with 
worm-holes and had in hand a piece of 
seasoned wood, a splendid piece. He was 
going to cut it with a hatchet and he had 
lifted up his hand holding the shining tool, 
when who knows what queer thoughts 
made his arm fall heavily. Did he perhaps 
remember that other famous piece of wood 
from which the sprightly little old man 
had shaped the wonderful puppet which 
had brought him so much bother and 
trouble? And what had become of him? 
Why had he sent no news of himself since 
he had gone out into the world like a real 
boy? Perhaps the poor little old man 
would have preferred to have him still at 
his side, a puppet as he used to be, and of 
wood out of which he had made him, than 
to be left thus alone in the last years of his 
life. He had tried so often to make another 
Pinocchio, but he had never been able to 
finish his work. His hands trembled; his 
eyes were no longer what they used to be, 
and even the wood—certainly it was the truth 

about the wood—wasn’t what it used to be. 

204 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

When he heard the bell ring he felt his 
heart beat, and he ran to open the door, 
swaying from side to side like a drunken 
man. 

“ Who’s there?” 

“It’s I, Geppetto. Don’t you recognize 
me?” 

“My Fatina!” 

“ Yes, indeed, your Fatina who has come 
to introduce her husband, the Bersaglierino, 
to you, and to see how you are, and to 
bring you somebody you are fond of, very 
fond of,” she replied, as they entered. 

He gave her a long, questioning glance 
from beneath his spectacles; then he 
spied Pinocchio mischievously hiding behind 
Fatina and the Bersaglierino. 

“Oh, Fatina! Fatina! How did they 
bring my poor puppet to such a state?” 
sobbed Geppetto as he looked at Pinocchio. 
“What under the sun is all this machinery 
and these contraptions? I made him of 
wood, all of wood, and so splendidly that 
no one was ever able to imitate him. Why 
did you let them abuse him in this way? 
Wouldn’t it have been better if you had 
let him stay a real boy than to bring him 

back to me in this condition?” 

205 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

And the dear little old man couldn’t con¬ 
tain himself and gave vent to his sorrow 
in loud weeping. 

Fatina and the Bersaglierino could find 
no words to comfort him with and looked 
at him compassionately, their own throats 
tightening. When Papa Geppetto had 
grown a little calmer he took his puppet 
in his arms and examined him carefully all 
over, shaking his head and drawing his lips 
tightly as if he wished to keep his sobs from 
bursting out again. He saw the artificial 
legs, the arm with its steel spring and the 
tweezers for hands; he saw the large silver 
plate which supported the breastbone— 
admired all this up-to-date mechanism, 
but was not in the least satisfied. The poor 
little old man preferred his wooden puppet 
all of wood to the marrow . . . and he no 
longer recognized his old Pinocchio. 

“Oh, Fatina!” he said, sighing, “who 
brought him to such a state?” 

“Our country, dear friend.” 

“Our country?” and for a moment he 
stood there, his eyes wide open with sur¬ 
prise. “Our country, did you say, Fatina?” 
Then he was lost in thought again. 

While the old man was bending over 

206 



The Heart of Pinocchio 

Pinocchio, Fatina and Bersaglierino quietly- 
slipped out of the door. Papa Geppetto 



was again alone with his beloved puppet 
in the same room where he had first carved 

the little fellow out of pine wood. 

207 









































The Heart of Pinocchio 

Don’t you remember how Pinocchio first 
broke up everything before he ran away? 
How he knocked over the chest, rummaged 
the wardrobe, broke the mirror, upset the 
little table, turned over the chairs, pulled 
the pictures off the walls, and tore down 
the window-curtains? And don’t you re¬ 
member how he left everything in a mess 
and ran out into the street wrapped in a 
flowered chintz curtain? 

Well, Pinocchio was home again, and Papa 
Geppetto had long ago repaired the things 
Pinocchio had broken. Everything was in 
good order except Pinocchio himself. That 
was what worried the old man. He did not 
care much about the mirrors, wardrobes, or 
window-curtains, but he did care about his 
little puppet friend whom he loved. 

It was getting dark and old Geppetto 
sat down in a large armchair and held 
Pinocchio on his lap. As the shadows 
began to gather and the room to get darker, 
Papa Geppetto began to nod and soon 
closed his eyes. With his arms clasped 
around Pinocchio, he went to sleep. 

If you could now step quietly into the 
room, you would see both of them asleep. 

The old man’s head was resting on Pinoc- 

208 


The Heart of Pinocchio 

chio’s head, and Pinocchio’s on Geppetto’s 
shoulder. 

The little puppet was sleeping quietly, 
but the old man was not. He seemed to 
be having a bad dream, judging from his 
sighs and groans. 

“Oh, Pinocchio!” he said, aloud, in his 
sleep, “why did you run away and go to 
the war? Just look at you! No legs, and 
one arm gone! I wish you were my dear 
wooden puppet again.” 

Then the old man sighed, but kept on 
sleeping. 

After about two hours Papa Geppetto 
awoke. It was now quite dark, but not 
so dark that the old man could not see 
t*hat some change had come over Pinocchio. 
He looked down at the little sleeping pup¬ 
pet and what do you think he saw? Not 
artificial legs and an arm. Oh no! Pinoc¬ 
chio was just as he was when he was 
first made. Pinocchio was again the little 
wooden puppet! 

Papa Geppetto was so overcome with joy 
that he caught up Pinocchio in his arms 
and hugged him so tight he nearly smoth¬ 
ered the little fellow. And Pinocchio threw 
his arms around the old man’s neck and 
kissed the top of his bald head. 

THE END 


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